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CONCERNING SALLY. 

THE INDIAN BOOK. Illustrated. 

THE MEDDLINGS OF EVE. 

OLD HARBOR. 

THE CLAMMER. 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
Boston and New York 


THE CLAMMER 


« 


THE CLAMMER 


BY 

WILLIAM JOHN HOPKINS 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
(Cbe dibec^itie Cambridge 



COPYRIGHT 1906 BY WILLIAM JOHN HOPKINS 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


Published March, iqob 




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CONTENTS 


I 

The Clammer .... 

II 

A Daughter of the Rich 

III 


Old Goodwin’s Wife 


H > ' 

•k V.' . * 


I 


THE CLAMMER 


















THE CLAMMER 


M any of my friends — and prob- 
ably all my neighbors — think 
me erratic and peculiar, I do not 
doubt. My friends remonstrate with 
me mildly, and I usually listen and 
accept and make no reply. For how 
can they know.'* And, they being 
what they are, how can I help them 
to a knowledge of things which must 
be born in a man ? My neighbors do 
not remonstrate, for my neighbors are 
not of necessity my friends, and I am 
queer enough not to care to cultivate 
a man’s acquaintance merely because 
he lives next me. 

There is Goodwin the Rich, who 
has the palace on the hill, above my 


4 THE CLAMMER 

favorite clam beds. It is not likely that 
I shall ever know him, although his 
automobiles flash past my front gate, 
covering my hedge with dust, and en- 
veloping my house in nauseous smells. 
I do not like automobiles. It is not 
to be imagined that Goodwin finds me 
peculiar, for he is probably unaware of 
my existence ; but I have some hum- 
bler neighbors who stare at me and 
shake their heads. And I smile and 
pass on; for I know what I know, 
and it passeth their understanding. 
And all this shaking of heads, and all 
the protesting of my friends, is be- 
cause I choose to go clamming. 

Some of my friends may, at first, 
have had the idea that my interest in 
clams was biological ; for I received 
some training in that branch of sci- 
ence, and even taught it — or was sup- 


THE CLAMMER 5 

posed to teach it, with other branches 
— in a school. But I look back upon 
that school with horror, as, no doubt, 
my victims regard me, in retrospect. 
And my neighbors may, very natu- 
rally, have assumed that my interest 
in clams was gastronomic, which is, 
indeed, nearer the truth. But the evi- 
dence on that point was inconclusive. 
They were not asked to my feasts of 
steamed clams, if I had any, and they 
came to look upon me as simply queer. 

As an occupation for leisure hours, 
I commend the pursuit of the clam. 
Your true clammer is of another age, 
born after his time. He values not at 
all the improvements of this age. He 
reads by candle light or goes to bed 
at dark. He loves the wandering along 
the bare shores, hoe in hand, the wad- 
ing through shallows, the mud pies he 


6 


THE CLAMMER 


may make in the incidental pursuit of 
his prey, and the sights he sees. For 
the capture of the clams is less than 
the search for them, even as the sport 
of the true fisherman lies as much in 
fishing as in catching fish. 

So it befell that I wandered, one 
afternoon, toward my chosen hunting 
ground over the oozy flats. The sun 
was low in the west, and he spread 
the still water and the shining mud 
with all manner of reds and purples 
and shimmering greens. If I might 
regulate the matter, low tide should al- 
ways fall at sunset or at dawn. Either 
is a fitting time, with the old earth at 
peace and its waters stilled or just 
waking. And at either time I may 
satisfy my soul with the unapproach- 
able coloring of the Great Painter. The 
hot noon is no time for clamming. 


THE CLAMMER 


7 


Then the water glares in your eyes, 
the sun beats down upon your back. 
The mud is just mud that stinketh in 
the nostrils. But when I have the 
happiness to go clamming at sunset, 
I am wont to stand and gaze and 
muse, forgetting my errand until I am 
sunken to my ankles in the mud. 
Then is my regret for my scientific 
training the keenest, and I know, 
within my soul, that in the making of 
a mediocre scientist a good painter 
has been lost to the world. Strive 
against it as I may, I cannot see a 
sunset without converting it into its 
elements of refraction, with a question 
of polarization ; nor the colors on the 
muddy puddle under my feet without 
thoughts of interference. But I am 
improving, and I hope, in time, to have 
shaken off all the dry dust of science 


8 THE CLAMMER 

I was at such pains to acquire. So, 
that afternoon, I wended on with joy 
in my heart. For I would dig, or gaze, 
as the fancy seized me, until the sun 
was gone and the night was fallen. 

Now, that particular piece of flat, to 
which incline alike my heart and my 
feet, is my own. I bought the few feet 
of shore to which the clam beds are 
attached because I loved it and feared 
lest, otherwise, the march of progress 
should take it from me. For Goodwin 
the Rich lives here, and he is improv- 
ing the shore — his Water Front. But 
he shall not improve away my clams. 
He may dig here and fill there and 
build his walls, but he shall leave mine 
untouched. For it is mine, as witness- 
eth a certain deed recorded with 
the Register. And as I thought these 
thoughts, walking over my sand, — 


THE CLAMMER 


9 


there is more sand than mud here, 
which is perhaps why I like it, — as I 
thought on these things, anger surged 
within me and I stamped my foot. 
And, behold, a little jet of water spurted 
up beside it. 

“ Oho,” said I, “ so there you are.” 

And straightway I stopped and set 
down my basket and began to dig; 
but leisurely, and with my face to the 
west, for I would bid the sun good- 
night. And that clam was found, and 
his fellows, and my basket was half 
full, and I rose to see the sun. And 
as I stood and saw him, his red disk 
was half down behind the hill, and I 
could see it sink. So I raised my hand 
to salute him, and there came a sweet 
voice behind me. 

“ Man,” said the sweet voice, “ why 
are you digging there ? ” 


10 THE CLAMMER 

Now I was surprised to hear that 
voice, but most surprised at its sweet- 
ness. But yet I would not turn nor 
answer until the red sun had winked 
his last. For, I thought, here is one of 
the maids from the house of Goodwin 
the Rich — or perhaps the governess ; 
yes, surely, the governess. The truly 
Rich may insist upon sweet voices in 
their governesses. And at last I turned 
and saw the governess sitting upon 
the bank, just where the sod broke 
off to the sand. And the light from 
the western sky shone upon her, the 
light from the sky that was all yellows 
and reds and would soon be turned to 
violet and green. And as she sat there, 
in her plain black dress, with that light 
shining upon her, she seemed very 
beautiful. Truly, thought I, the Rich 
may have what they will. But I could 


V 


THE CLAMMER ii 

not have told what was the color of 
her hair. In that light it was red and 
gold. And I stammered in my speech. 

“Your pardon, madam,” I said. “ I 
was saying good-night to the old sun.” 

She smiled, a smile as sweet as her 
voice, but with a touch of sadness in 
it. The life of a governess to the Rich 
is not all a path of roses. 

“Yes,” she said. “ I came down to 
see the sun set, too. But why are you 
digging?” 

“ I was digging clams,” I answered 
gently. For I felt a sorrow for her 
sadness. 

“ Oh,” she said, “ do you dig clams ? 
Have you some clams in your basket ? 
I should like to see some clams.” 

Now, truly, that was an easy mat- 
ter, that she should see some clams, 
for there they were in the basket. 


12 


THE CLAMMER 


And the sun was gone, so I lost none 
of his company if I would please the 
governess. It did, indeed, strike me as 
strange that a governess should know 
so little of clams, but probably she 
did not teach biology. Governesses to 
the Rich deal more in appearance and 
in manners. Still, I hold that in some 
respects the manners of a clam are wor- 
thy of imitation. He is quiet and un- 
obtrusive. I waded out into the water 
and soused my basket well. Then I 
brought it to the governess sitting on 
the bank. 

“ Now,” she said, a trifle of petulance 
showing in the sweet voice, “ you have 
got them all wet.” 

“ Better all wet than all muddy,” I 
replied, standing before her, and watch- 
ing the play of light upon her hair. 
When I see her hair in the plain light 


THE CLAMMER 13 

of day, I think I shall find it red, — a 
brilliant red. But it was wonderful. 
Her head was bent as she looked into 
my basket, and my opportunity for 
observation was excellent. One thing 
my scientific training has done for me 
is to make me a good observer. 

“ Oh,” cried the governess, “ what is 
that funny-looking thing they are stick- 
ing out ? Is it the head ? ” 

“ It is called the head,” I answered, 
“but it is not. Isn’t it strange how 
often a thing is not what it is called i* 
But I suppose you do not have to teach 
anything about clams.” 

“ Teach about clams ! ” she said, 
puzzled for an instant. Then she 
seemed to be amused. “ No, I don’t. 
It’s lucky, is n’t it ? For I don’t know 
anything about them. May I take one 
of them } ” 


14 


THE CLAMMER 


“ It will drip on your dress and spot 
it,” I said warningly. 

“It does n’t matter,” she replied. 
And she took a clam in her hand, and 
the water dripped upon her dress, as 
I had said, and it made a spot. She 
could not see it then, but I knew how 
it would look in the morning. She was 
a most careless, heedless governess. 

“ Of course it matters,” I said, re- 
proving. “You will see. Surely they 
don’t give you all the gowns you want, 
to spot with salt water.” 

She was puzzled again. “ All the 
gowns I want ? ” she asked, wondering. 
“ What do you mean } ” 

“ Up at the great house,” I said, “at 
Good — Mr. Goodwin’s.” 

The governess smiled, a merry smile 
that filled her eyes with light. For she 
was looking up at me then. And I 


THE CLAMMER 15 

looked deep into those eyes until her 
face was the color of her hair. 

“ Oh, yes,” she said, looking down, 
— and I was sorry, for on a sudden it 
seemed dark, — “ oh, yes, they are very 
good to me — in the matter of gowns. 
But I will be careful if you think I 
ought.” 

“ I know you ought,” I said. “ Waste 
is wicked.” 

“ Yes,” she answered, musing, “ I 
suppose it is. But I am afraid I haven’t 
thought about it as much as I might.” 

She was looking at me, up and down, 
from my mud-covered rubber boots to 
my old battered hat. I was clad as a 
clammer should be clad, and I was not 
ashamed. 

“You are not wicked, are you.?” 
asked the governess. “You are not 
wasteful ? ” 


i6 THE CLAMMER 

“ Not of my clothes,” I answered. “ I 
cannot be. And do you suppose my 
wife would drip salt water upon her 
best dress ? ” 

I thought I saw a shadow steal across 
her face. But the sun had left many 
shadows behind him. 

“ It is n’t my ” — She hesitated and 
stopped. “ Have you a wife } ” 

“ No,” I answered shamelessly. And 
she laughed aloud, a sweet laugh and 
low, like — like nothing else in the 
wide world. 

“ Are you a fisherman ? ” she asked. 

I had forgotten how the garb of a 
clammer would be regarded by a gov- 
erness to the Rich. 

“ Sometimes,” I said. “ I am but 
a passable fisherman. I can catch 
enough for myself, or, if need were, 
for two.” 


THE CLAMMER 17 

“ And do you use the clams to catch 
the fish?” 

“ Some of them.” 

“ I should like to open this clam. 
How shall I do it ? ” 

I broke the shell upon a stone, and 
pulled forth the clam. 

“ Oh,” cried the governess, “ the poor 
thing ! And does n’t it hurt it?” 

“ The scientists will tell you that it 
does not,” I said. “ Never having been 
a clam, I do not know. But I know I 
cannot use them without breaking the 
shell.” 

“ And what do you do with the rest ? ” 
she asked. 

“ The rest ? ” 

“Yes, the rest, — those you do not 
use to catch fish. Come, tell me. Don’t 
make me ask so many questions.” 

“ I like to hear you ask questions,” 


i8 THE CLAMMER 

I said, whereupon she smiled again. 
And her eyes filled with light as they 
had before, and I knew that I were 
safer on the quicksand of the Hole 
than looking down into those eyes. 
But I went on. 

“ The rest are eatfen. Some make 
chowder, which is a mystery ; some 
are steamed in the oven ; but the rest 
are covered with seaweed and baked 
on hot stones. Did you never see a 
clambake ? ” 

“ Never,” she answered, “ although 
I have heard them mentioned. Are 
they rare feasts ? I should like to see 
a clambake.” 

“ I shall have one,” I said, “ and 
you will come. And we shall have 
clams, fresh digged and weltering ; and 
fish fresh caught ; and chicken not too 
fresh ; and lobsters and sweet potatoes 


THE CLAMMER 19 

and corn and many other things. And 
there will be a great pan for the shells 
and the husks, for you will not throw 
them on the ground, as we common 
people do. And you will shuck the 
clams with your fingers, and eat the 
corn from the cob.” 

“ Horrible ! ” she said. And she 
looked at her hands, and laughed. 
They were shapely hands, soft and 
beautiful. I wished — but it does not 
matter what I wished, for I knew I 
might not have it. 

“ Fisherman,” she said, “ you amuse 
me. But I will come to your clam- 
bake.” 

“ Do you find me more amusing than 
your teaching ? ” I asked. For one 
does not enjoy being laughed at by a 
governess with red hair and beautiful 
eyes, although to stand there, close 


20 


THE CLAMMER 


before her, and to see her laugh, was a 
joy. 

“ Yes,” she answered, “ vastly more 
than my teaching. My teaching is not 
amusing. I weary of it.” 

“Yes,” I cried, “ I know it. And do 
you find the doings at the great house 
a weariness ? ” 

“ I do,” she said. “ And that is why 
I came here.” 

“ And will you come again ? ” 

“ Perhaps. But when shall that won- 
derful clambake be ? ” ' 

“ That,” I said, “ is in the future. 
There are preparations. And besides, 
I would have it to look forward to. 
And how am I to let you know ? ” 

“ Why,” she said, “ that is a problem. 
Perhaps — you might leave your invi- 
tation under that great stone.” 

“ And how should I know ” — 


THE CLAMMER 21 

“ Why, again,” she said, “one might 
find something under the stone if he 
but looked.” 

And she was silent for some while. 

“ Fisherman,” she said suddenly, 
“ what is your name ? ” 

“ Thomas,” I answered ; “ and what 
is yours ? ” 

She started, and for an instant she 
was angry. Then she laughed again, 
adorably, and blushed. “ My name is 
Eve,” she said. 

“ T ruly,” I said, “ I should have known. 
And I was wrong, for mine is Adam.” 

“Now, fisherman,” she cried, “you 
presume.” 

“ I must,” I answered, “ for it is the 
nature that God gave me.” 

“ And, Thomas,” she went on, “ you 
dig in our — in Mr. Goodwin’s clam 
beds.” 


22 THE CLAMMER 

“ I do not,” I cried, forgetting, in my 
anger, “ they are m — , they belong to 
a queer fellow who lives near.” 

“ Oh,” she said. “ And he lets you 
dig there } ” 

“ He lets me.” 

She mused and looked down at the 
clam beds. But the water was lapping 
on the flats by this, and the twilight 
waned. 

“ I wonder,” she said, and stopped. 

“ What.?” 

“ I, too, would dig for clams.” 

“Well,” I said, “why not.? But not 
in that gowa” 

“ Would it be a waste, and wicked ? 
But you said it was spotted already.” 

“ It may be cleaned,” I answered. “ I 
wonder at you.” For I was impatient. 
What a spendthrift governess 1 

“ There are so many things I do not 


THE CLAMMER 23 

think of,” she said contritely. “ But I 
must learn. And what gown, then } ” 

“ A short one,” I said, “ and an old 
one, if you have such a thing. I never 
heard of so extravagant a governess.” 

“Oh,” she said, and smiled again. 
And I saw the light in her eyes, though 
it was nearly dark. “And have you 
known many governesses, fisherman ? ” 

“ None,” said I. “ But my name is 
Adam.” 

“You said Thomas.” 

“ Eve,” I replied, with firmness, “ I 
said Adam.” 

“ Well, then, Adam, what else ? ” 

“ Boots,” I answered, — “ rubber 
boots. See mine.” 

It was not light enough, but she had 
seen. 

“Yes,” she said, “but governesses 
do not have rubber boots.” 


24 


THE CLAMMER 


“ They should,” said I, “ for the grass 
is wet even now, and it is long. But I 
will bring you some.” 

“ Oh,” she began, and stopped. And 
I knew she blushed, though I could 
not see. 

“ And I wonder,” she went on, “ if 
that queer fellow would let me dig, 
too.” 

“ He would.” 

“You seem very sure, fisherman.” 

“ Adam,” I corrected. 

“Well, then, Adam.” 

“ I am sure,” I said; “ and besides, I 
shall not tell him.” 

“ It is very dark,” she observed. 
“ The twilight is quite gone.” 

“ Not quite gone. See the west.” 
Indeed, there was a light streak in the 
west, and the bearded hill was marked 
against it. 


THE CLAMMER 


25 

“ I must go in,” she said ; but she 
did not rise. 

“ Not yet,” I urged. 

“ I must go in,” she repeated, “ or 
they will send for me.” And this time 
she rose. 

“ I will go with you,” I insisted. 

“No,” she said, “you will stay. 
Good-night, fisherman.” 

“ Adam,” I corrected. “ Governesses 
should have better memories.” 

She laughed. I loved to hear her 
laugh, and I would have seen hen eyes. 

“ Good-night, Adam.” 

“ Good-night, Eve. To-morrow ” — 

But she was gone, swiftly, and I 
stayed, as I was commanded. And my 
heart was beating as no clammer’s 
should. For a heart-beat of above 
seventy a minute is not fitting for a 
clammer. I sat, that night, with my 


26 THE CLAMMER 

book in my lap, staring into the dark 
shadows, and my candle sputtered and 
went out. Will this new light go out 
of my life, too ? 

I sat upon the edge of the bank, just 
where the sod breaks off to the sand, 
and I stared at the red sun, and he 
stared back at me. I sat close beside 
the place where the governess had sat, 
— very close, — but that place was 
vacant. For perhaps, I thought, per- 
haps — And the old sun spread his 
colors lavishly over the still water and 
upon the wet sand ; his purples and 
his reds and his dainty shades of pink 
and blue and green. If I could mix my 
colors like that — or are they mixed ? 
My scientific training does not help me 
much. It does not tell me why the 
colors are now brighter than they were 


THE CLAMMER 27 

yesterday, and now sombre. There is 
more than one kind of reflection, and 
science knows them not. And, as I 
stared and wondered — for these things 
are marvels — came a sweet voice be- 
hind me, and my heart leaped up into 
my throat and choked me. And I did 
not stop to reflect that it was not my 
heart at all, but some ganglion or 
plexus or what not. What cared I for 
ganglion or plexus ? 

“ Fisherman,” said the sweet voice, 
“ you are early.” 

“ Eve,” said I, — and my voice was 
steady, — “ may a man come too early 
to Paradise ? The woman comes after 
— though I have all my ribs.” 

“ Fisherman,” she said, “ you are a 
strange man.” 

“So I have heard,” I answered. 
“ But you forget. A governess should 


28 THE CLAMMER 

have a better memory. I wonder that 

you can teach.” 

“ I am but a passable teacher, Adam. 
I cannot even teach well enough for 
one.” 

“ Well enough for two, if we be the 
two. For I am learning.” 

“ Adam,” she said, “ I might speak 
seriously to you. I ought to be angry 
with you ” — 

“ But you are not. It is strange how 
seldom we are what we should be. I 
should call you ‘ lady,’ as though I were 
a car conductor, and be most respect- 
ful, as befitteth a fisherman ” — 

“ But you are not. Why, Adam ? ” 

“ How should I know ? It is the 
nature that God gave me. And those 
who stand nearest to nature — well, I 
am learning. Come and sit here. Eve, 
where I can see you.” 


THE CLAMMER 29 

“Now, Adam, really — you must 
learn. Even a fisherman should not 
need to be told to stand ” — 

“Your pardon, madam,” I cried, 
standing. “You are right, and as I 
said, I am but a passable fisherman. 
Did the first man stand, in Paradise ? 
Probably he ran. But I do not, for I 
can see you well as we are — and that 
light on your hair. Eve ” — 

She stamped her foot. “ Fisherman,” 
she cried, “ it is too much. I will not 
stay. Remember that ” — 

“ I am a fisherman. I will,” I said. 
“ And you are a governess.” 

Then she laughed, which was what 
I wanted. I was missing the sun’s 
good-night, but what of that ? For I 
might see his marvels half the days in 
the year ; but this marvel that I saw — 
how many days ? I wished, — but my 


THE CLAMMER 


30 

wishes are vain. Still, there was I, 
looking up, and there was she, looking 
down and smiling yet, and the glory 
of the west was in her eyes and on her 
hair. 

“ Turn, fisherman,” she said, “ or you 
will miss your good-night to the sun.” 

“ What I see pleases me better,” I 
said. “ But stand beside me, and we 
will bid him good-night together.” 

So she stood beside me, which was 
a marvel, and the sun rested his red 
rim on the bearded hill, and we saw 
him sink. And as the last thin line of 
red vanished behind the hill, I saluted, 
and so did she. And then she laughed. 
I love a ready laugh, — mine is not 
ready, but has to be pumped out, with a 
great noise, — and such an one as hers — 

“ Now, Adam,” she said, “ we must 
dig. We have wasted time.” 


THE CLAMMER 31 

“ No,” I answered, “ for the beds are 
but now uncovered. See the colors. 
Eve. What would you give to paint 
like that ? There is but one Painter.” 

“ One could never learn,” she said, 
“ there is so much to learn.” 

“ But we are learning every day.” 

“ And what have you learned to-day, 
Adam ? ” 

“ Many things.” 

“ From the sun .? ” 

“ From the sun,” I answered, “ and 
from you.” 

“ From me ! ” she cried. “ What 
have you learned from me, fisher- 
man?” 

“ Some day I will tell you, gover- 
ness,” I said. 

“ What day, fisherman ? ” 

“ When we dig for clams at dawn.” 
“ And when will that day be ? ” 


32 


THE CLAMMER 


“In more than one week, and less 
than two.” 

“ And why not any day, Adam, — 
when I will } ” 

“ The tide. Eve. Even a woman must 
wait for the tide. See, it has made us 
late to-night.” 

“ Come, fisherman,” she said, “ let us 
dig quickly, or it will be too late.” 

So I drew the boots from my basket, 
and she took them. 

“ Fisherman,” she said, “ these are 
new. Where did you get them ? ” 

“ I had them,” I replied ; which was 
true. I had had them since the morn- 
ing. 

She sat behind a tree and put them 
on, and I heard her laughing to her- 
self. Then she came forth. 

“ They are too large,” she said, “ but 
it does not matter.” 


THE CLAMMER 33 

I might have known it. But what 
know I of women’s boots ? 

“ My stock is small,” I answered. 
“ I had no other size.” And that was 
true, too. 

So I showed her how to dig, and 
when her hoe broke through a shell, 
she almost wept. But she dug six. 

“ I am tired,” she said then. “ I will 
dig no more to-night. Does your back 
get tired, too ? ” 

“Not now,” said I, “but it did at 
first.” 

Then she sat behind the tree and 
changed the boots, and we hung them 
in the tree against another time. And 
then we sat upon the bank, for the 
colors had not faded. And Eve sat 
silent, gazing at the water and the 
western sky; and I sat silent and gazed 
up at her. 


34 the CLAMMER 

“ Eve,” said I. 

She turned and looked at me, but 
did not speak. 

“ I think many things,” I said, “ and 
some of them I would say.” 

“ No,” she answered, “ do not say 
them. Watch the sky and the water 
while the colors last. See, it is almost 
dark.” 

“ The water and the sky are from 
everlasting to everlasting. Eve, so far 
as I am concerned. But you — no, I 
must make the most of what I have.” 

“ Fisherman,” she said, “ you must 
not speak so to me.” 

“ And why not, governess ? Does it 
displease you.? May a fisherman not 
say his say to a governess .? If I were 
a — what must I be, to rank with a 
governess? Would my speech offend 
you then ? ” 


THE CLAMMER 


35 

“Adam,” she answered, “ I came here 
to dig for clams.” 

“ Truly,” said I, “ we did, and to see 
the sun go down.” 

“ And the sun is gone, and the clams 
are digged, and I must go.” 

“ Eve,” I observed, “ you are a lo- 
gician.” 

“ I am not,” she replied. “I am a 
woman.” 

“ Heaven be praised for that ! ” I 
cried. “ A perfect work ! ” 

“ Adam,” she said, and she was half 
laughing as she spoke, “ I ought to be 
angry with you.” 

“You ought not,” I answered, “for 
it heats the blood and causes vapors in 
the brain. Or so the ancient writers 
tell us. Besides, I do not like it.” 

“ Like a woman’s postscript,” said 
she. “ You are a strange fisherman.” 


36 


THE CLAMMER 


“ Truly,” I said, “ I am. But see the 
water and the sky. Eve. What peace 
and tranquillity ! Can you feel anger 
when you look upon that ? And what 
am I ? The grass of the field, and to- 
morrow I shall be cast into the oven. 
For to-morrow it will be hot.” 

“You speak much nonsense, Adam.” 

“ Nonsense is the savor of life, 
Eve.” 

She said nothing, but sat there, with 
her hands clasped about her knees, and 
I gazed up' at her and was content. 
And the twilight faded and was gone. 

“ Now I must go,” she said at last. 

She rose, regretfully, I thought, and 
the thought gave me joy. And that 
was marvel, too ; for what was this gov- 
erness to me — this governess whom 
I had seen but twice ? But that unruly 
ganglion of mine ^ — 


THE CLAMMER 37 

“ Adam,” she said, smiling down at 
me, “you have not scolded me. My 
gown ” — 

“ Your gown is well enough,” I an- 
swered ; “ too good for clamming, but 
I suppose it is the worst you could do. 
If I said more of it, it would be that 
you look adorable in that gown — or 
any other. But I must not say it, or 
you will be angry.” 

“ No,” she said, “ you must not say 
that, for anger heats the blood and 
causes vapors in the brain; and I have 
enough already. It is the oldest gown 
I have — and the shortest.” 

“Itis” — 

“ Never mind. If it is wasteful and 
wicked, I cannot help it. Will it do 
for digging clams to-morrow ? ” 

“We may not dig clams to-morrow.” 

“ And why not, Adam, — if I will ? ” 


38 


THE CLAMMER 


“ The tide. It will be too late. But 
the sun will go down.” 

“ Good-night, Adam. You may have 
the clams I dug.” 

“ If I could press them, Eve, like 
flowers ! Good-night.” 

And again I sat through an evening 
too long for a clammer; and, though 
my book was in my hand, and my 
candle burned bright and clear, I did 
not read, but I stared into the dark 
shadows. And from those shadows 
there shone out that wonderful hair 
with the light upon it from the west- 
ern sky; and those wonderful eyes, 
with the light in them from the soul 
within. Oh, Eve, Eve! And I have 
seen you only twice. 

There is a restlessness that seizes 
upon men in certain case. I have seen 


THE CLAMMER 39 

it often, and wondered at the poor fools 
who turned from this to that, then tried 
the other thing, and found no satisfac- 
tion in any. And I have laughed at 
them and counseled them to turn to 
clamming. And there is a cure for that 
malady, too ; a simple cure, as simple 
as the fount of eternal youth. It is 
only to find it and the thing is done. 
And some find the fount, and some do 
not. And those who find it, why, eter- 
nal youth is theirs, and joy and peace 
are in their abiding places forever. And 
those who find it not, why. Heaven 
help them ! For there is no peace for 
them nor rest on earth. 

So it befell that I rose before the 
dawn, and went forth. And there, with- 
out, was a fog as thick as cheese. But 
though I could not see ten fathoms, 
yet I looked out toward my clam beds. 


40 THE CLAMMER 

And then I thought: You poor fool, 
shall she come down in this thickness, 
at four in the morning, looking for 
clams ? And yet again, I took my 
basket and wandered in that fog like 
a lost soul. And the more fool I, for 
the tide was not half down, and no 
dawn to see. And as I wandered along 
the shore, angry and out of sorts, strik- 
ing with my hoe in the sand, I met 
one of my neighbors ; and as he passed 
behind me, I heard him laughing in 
the fog. 

And my breakfast was no better. 
My fresh-gathered eggs were bitter in 
my mouth, and they tasted of sulphur; 
and my coffee was gray that should 
have been a rich red-brown like the 
copper beech ; and my rolls were lead 
or cotton, I knew not which. I lighted 
my pipe and went out. 


THE CLAMMER 


41 


The hot sun was burning off the 
fog. I stood at the foot of my garden, 
where I have a seat against the trunk 
of an old pine, and I watched the fog 
writhing and twisting in the anguish 
of defeat and dissolution, vanishing 
into the hot air above in little jets and 
shreds, rolling away over the water to 
the ocean, a far gray bank. And the 
waters of the bay danced in the sun, 
and dazzled my eyes. So, for some 
while I paced there, back and forth. 
Then I heaved a sigh and sat me upon 
my seat, and the great pine whispered 
softly above me ; but I fidgeted upon 
the seat and found no peace. 

So, all day, I wandered the shores, 
and I dug no clams, but found myself 
picking shells and pebbles of bright 
colors. And in the early afternoon I 
stood by our clam beds — Eve’s and 


42 THE CLAMMER 

mine — and looked up through all the 
greenery toward the great house, and 
saw the gleam of dresses. And I left 
my basket by the bank and turned and 
ran, — like the fool I was. Why did I 
run } For as the sun was low, and my 
pulse high, I wandered once more over 
to that place. And as I came near, 
behold there on the bank sat Eve. 
And at the sight, that ganglion which 
serves me for a heart began its rioting 
so that I nearly choked. But I came 
nearer yet, and sat me down beside 
her, and she smiled at me. And then 
I found that peace I had sought all day. 

“ Fisherman,” she said, “you are not 
early to-night.” 

“ I am not,” I said, “ and yet I am. 
For I have haunted this place all day, 
and yet I feared to come too soon.” 

She did not ask me why, but pointed 


THE CLAMMER 


43 

to my basket. “ Are these your gather- 
ings?” 

I nodded. 

“Why, Adam? They are not clams — 
nor fish.” 

“ I do not know, Eve. I have done 
strange things to-day.” 

“ Are they for me ? ” 

“What shall a governess do with 
pebbles ? ” 

“ They might be useful in my teach- 
ing, Adam. Are they for me ? ” 

“ If you will. Anything I have is 
yours ” — 

“ Fisherman, remember ” — 

“ Eve, Eve, how shall I remember, 
with you sitting beside me, and your 
eyes smiling, and that light upon your 
hair? ” 

“ Then I will not smile nor sit be- 
side you. And so I must go ” — 


44 


THE CLAMMER 


“ No, no,” I cried. “ Stay, for the 
pity of man. I will remember, — or I 
will try. I cannot promise more. A 
fisherman and a governess I So I may 
not give you the pebbles. Eve, but I 
will bargain with you.” 

“ For what ? ” 

“ For that rose you wear.” For she 
wore a great red rose upon her bosom. 

She considered. “ It is a fair bar- 
gain,” she said at last, “and I agree. 
A rose for your pebbles.” 

So she took her rose and fastened 
it upon my coat. And I did not speak 
nor thank her, for I could not. What 
foolish thing should I have said? It 
was hard enough not to kiss the hand 
so near my lips. And we sat there a 
long while in silence, she looking at 
the west, and I gazing up at her or 
idly sticking the little pebbles in the 


THE CLAMMER 


45 

sod. And when the sun was gone and 
she rose to go, she saw the pebbles, 
and they made two words, ADAM 
and EVE. I thought she would have 
stamped upon them, but she did not. 
She only smiled and bade me good- 
night. 

And so for days I lived in purga- 
tory and in paradise, wandering the 
shore, without purpose save to pass 
the endless day till sunset ; and at 
evening I sat with Eve upon the 
bank until the twilight faded, and 
she left me. And the weeds sprang 
in my garden, and my neighbors 
laughed at me more than ever. For 
I went clamming at high tide. And 
upon my mantel, between two plates 
of glass that were cunningly bound 
about the edges, was a red rose. 

Then, one evening, I waited there 


46 THE CLAMMER 

upon the bank and no Eve came. 
And I fretted and fumed and mourned 
until I bethought me of the great 
stone. Without hope, I looked be- 
neath ; and, wonder of wonders, there 
was a scrap of paper with its mes- 
sage. “ They will not let me come 
to-night.” And I acted like the fool I 
was, and kissed the dainty thing, and 
thrust it in my pocket, and pulled 
it out again a dozen times. Never 
having seen her writing, I should 
know it, it was so like her. And I 
tore a corner, though I hated to, — 
I had no other paper, — and wrote, 
“We miss you, the sun and I. Eve, 
Eve, do not fail to-morrow. Do not 
shut the gates upon me yet.” And 
I put it beneath the stone and went 
away. 

And in the morning the sky was 


THE CLAMMER 47 

gray, with low-hanging clouds, heavy 
and wet. And by afternoon there was 
a driving drizzle, and my heart sank. 
But I went. I would not fail, though 
I had no hope. And there, leaning 
against a tree, stood Eve, the water 
dripping from her wide felt hat, and 
shining upon her long coat. And she 
smiled at me as I came, and I could 
not speak ; but I looked at her un- 
til the slow flush mounted to her 
forehead. 

“ Eve,” I said at last, “ how shall a 
fisherman remember, when you stand 
so, before him, — and on such a day ? ” 

“ Why, fisherman,” she said lightly, 
“ it is a good day. I find this weather 
as good as any other, — in fair mea- 
sure.” 

“ It pleases me,” I said, “ although 
this morning it did not.” 


48 


THE CLAMMER 


Then, deliberately, I went to the 
great stone and turned it up, and my 
paper was gone. And Eve watched 
me, and again the slow flush mounted 
to her forehead, but she said nothing. 
And as we stood together under the 
tree, there was a constraint upon us 
both. The things that I would say I 
might not, and for the light things 
that I might say, I had no heart. 

And the next day, too, it rained, 
but I cared not. And again we stood 
together under the tree. Eve and I, 
and as we stood there, the clouds 
parted and showed the sun sinking in 
splendor. And I saw a greater glory 
than I had seen. And when the sun 
was gone, there was the young moon 
following. 

“ Peace on earth,” I said ; but she 
did not speak. 


THE CLAMMER 


49 


So for some while we stood silent, 
and I saw the gold and the red fade 
from the clouds, and the clouds them- 
selves were gone, deep banks of in- 
digo, into the east. Then the western 
sky was grown violet and a green 
like the curl of a wave, till, overhead, 
it became the night. And I looked 
at Eve, and her look smote upon 
my heart, for it was troubled. But I 
might not say the thing I would ; for 
shall a fisherman so speak to a gover- 
ness to the Rich ? Even a governess 
to the Rich may have her woes, it 
seems, and it is no fisherman’s part — 

“ Eve,” I said. And she started, as 
though her thoughts were wandering. 

“ Eve,” I said again, “ would you 
dig for clams at dawn ? For the 
beds will be uncovered by dawn to- 


morrow. 


50 


THE CLAMMER 


“ Oh,” she answered, “ will they ? 
And is it a joy to see the dawn ? ” 

“ Did you never see a dawn. Eve ? ” 
“ Never. Have I missed much ? ” 

“ If you see one. Eve, you will 
know how much.” 

“ I would like to see a dawn,” she 
said. And then she was silent, and I 
thought her near to tears, and a great 
fear came upon me. 

“ Now, Adam,” she said, at last, “ I 
must go. Good-night.” 

Then she turned and listened. 
“ They are coming for me now. Run, 
Adam.” 

“ Run ! ” I cried. “ Run, when I 
stand upon my own ? Why should I 
run ? No, I will stay. And they shall 
do nothing to you against your will.” 

I had forgotten that I was a fisher- 
man, but Eve did not note it. “ Run, 


THE CLAMMER 


51 


Adam,” she cried, beseeching. “ If you 
care for my peace, run.” 

And so I ran, like any poacher. 
And that night, sitting staring into 
the shadows, I wondered. 

My clam beds — mine and Eve’s — 
have many virtues. From them I can 
see both east and west ; from that point 
neither dawn nor sunset escapes me. 
And another virtue they had had for 
me, that was more than dawn or sun- 
set. And what that was, any man who 
has been in such case as mine will 
know without the telling. So, though 
I loved the dawn, it was more than 
that that brought me stealing through 
the early gray of morning to the bank, 
just where the sod breaks off to the 
sand. 

There I sat and waited, alone, and 


THE CLAMMER 


52 

I watched the gray brighten in the 
east, and hoped that Eve would not 
be too late. And just as the gray be- 
came a tender blue, and hope was 
leaving me, there was the light step 
behind me, and I rose and stood, as 
a fisherman should stand before a 
governess. And Eve did not speak to 
me, for she saw the east. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried softly. 

And she said no word more, but 
there we stood together. And we saw 
the blue brighten and become suf- 
fused with pink, and there in the east- 
ern sky lay a great rose that stretched 
its petals to the zenith. And in the 
heart of that rose was a little cloud 
like a flame, with one long finger 
pointed straight at Eve and me. And 
all those soft tints of blue and pink, 
with the flame of the little cloud, were 


THE CLAMMER 


53 

spread upon the water that was but 
just stirring in its sleep, and dim- 
pling here and there. Then was the lit- 
tle flame-cloud edged with gold upon 
its lower side, and shot through with 
orange lights, and the pink rose turned 
to saffron and then to orange, and the 
rim of the sea was luminous, like molten 
gold. And on a sudden the gold and 
orange fled from the little cloud, and 
a great blazing fire showed above the 
sea. 

“ The sun. Eve,” I whispered ; and 
as I spoke, a little breeze flashed 
across the water and darkened it like 
a breath upon a mirror. And there 
was the great disk of the sun half 
risen, and we might no longer look 
him in the face. 

And at that Eve fetched a great 
sigh, and turned, and the chorus of 


THE CLAMMER 


54 

the birds broke forth in the trees be- 
hind us. They had been calling back 
and forth before, but now they sang 
madly. The old earth had waked once 
more, and it was day. 

“ Adam,” said Eve, “ I thank you.” 

Then she sat upon the bank, where 
the colored pebbles still marked the 
names, and I sat there beside her ; and 
for some while we spoke not, but lis- 
tened to the mad music of the birds. 
Then Eve would dig for clams. 

“ What matter. Eve ? ” I asked. “ The 
clams will be the bigger for waiting. 
We have seen the dawn, and we may 
see the day grow.” 

“Yes,” she said, “we have seen the 
dawn. I did not dream it could be 
like that. There are no words, Adam. 
And I would see the day grow. But 
for my conscience’ sake I must dig.” 


THE CLAMMER 


55 

“ Eve,” I said, “ a conscience is a 
most distressing comrade. Does a gov- 
erness have a conscience — a gover- 
ness to the Rich ? ” 

“ Does not a fisherman ? ” she asked. 

“ He cannot afford it,” I replied. “ It 
is a luxury not for the poor nor for 
the very rich.” 

“ But a governess is not very rich. 
And if she were, she yet might have 
a conscience. I have.” 

“And does it plague you?” 

“ Yes,” she said. “ Come, let us dig, 
and I will tell you.” 

I, too, had somewhat that I would 
tell, and presently we were digging. 
And Eve dug in silence, and gently, 
for she would not harm the clams. 

“Well, Eve?” I said, when I was 
wearied of the silence. 

She was so long in speaking that I 


56 THE CLAMMER 

feared she never would. “ Adam,” she 
asked, at last, “ are you a wise man ? ” 

“Very,” I answered; “wiser than 
Solomon. He had seven hundred 
wives, and I have none.” 

“ And is that wise, — to have none } ” 

“ Eve, Eve,” I cried, “ you do not 
help me. I jest because I fear to speak 
in earnest.” 

“You are good, Adam,” she said. 
“ And if you are wise, you may tell 
me what to do.” 

“ If you would do what I tell you ! ” 

She was bending very low over her 
digging, and her face was turned away, 
which did not please me. I like to see 
her face. 

“ I fear that I may lose my place,” 
she said. 

I straightened up at that, but she 
bent lower yet. 


THE CLAMMER 


57 

“ Lose your place ! ” I cried. “ And 
why } ” 

“ Why — they — it is not easy to 
tell you, Adam.” 

“ I will not urge you, Eve, but ” — 

“ You need not. I wish to tell you, 
for I — a governess may not always 
stand alone. She is a woman, after 
all.” 

“ Yes,” I said, “ thank God ! ” 

“ They — they would ” — She be- 
gan to laugh, a nervous laugh and with 
no mirth in it, — “they would marry 
me, Adam.” 

“ What ! ” I cried. “ They would — 
who would marry you ? Not old Good- 
win!” 

“No,” she said; and laughed the 
more, and seemed really merry at it. 
“ Now I feel better. Not old Goodwin. 
He has a wife.” 


58 


THE CLAMMER 


I was puzzled. 

“Who, then, Eve? Who would 
marry you ? I doubt not there are 
many who would, for I know” — 

“ It is old Goodwin’s wife,” she said, 
breaking me off short, and just in time. 

Then she stood straight. “ Now, 
Adam,” she went on, “ I am not so 
nervous as I was, but I may laugh or 
I may cry with no reason. I will sit 
upon the bank and tell you, for truly I 
am in straits. And do you bear with 
me, for you are honest, and I may 
trust you. And indeed I know no other 
I may trust — but one.” 

“ A governess advised in matrimony 
by a fisherman ! ” I said. “ And who 
is that one. Eve ? ” 

“You shall hear. And do not jest, 
Adam, or my laughter may turn to 
tears. They are near enough. And 


THE CLAMMER 59 

now for th^ story, which is a short 
one. Old Goodwin’s wife would marry 
me to a certain rich man, — for my 
worldly good, as she says.” 

“ A certain rich man,” I said, mus- 
ing. “ And will he enter the Kingdom 
of Heaven ? ” 

“ That he will not.” 

“ Then why doubt ? And do you 
love him. Eve ? ” 

“ I do not.” 

“ Then why doubt ? ” 

“ If I do not,” she said, “ I shall lose 
my place. And that is much to me, 
Adam, for what shall I do then ? The 
man whom I may trust is old Good- 
win, but he is not so much my friend 
as to hold against his wife.” 

“And what said you to the man ? ” 

“ I said no, but still he came. And 
now I know not what I shall say next.” 


6o 


THE CLAMMER 


“ Shall I tell you what to do, Eve? ” 
“ If you know, Adam.” 

“ Marry me,” I said. And she looked 
at me with wide eyes and laughed ; 
and at that laugh I was sore and hurt, 
though I had no right. Then her laugh 
died and her eyes filled. 

“ Forgive me, Adam,” she said. “ I 
should not laugh, but indeed I am 
overwrought. Truly — truly I might 
almost find it in my heart ” — 

I stood before her, trembling. “ I 
should not have said it. Eve. What is 
a fisherman, that he should offer the 
little that he has to you? But I am 
well-to-do. Eve, — for a fisherman. You 
should never want — nor work. And 
if you might find it in your heart” — 
“ I will consider your offer, good 
fisherman,” she said, smiling. “ I must 
consider. You have — I must tell you, 


THE CLAMMER 6i 

in justice, you have an even chance 
with that other. But I must con- 
sider.” 

“ So an honest fisherman, well-to-do, 
has an even chance with a rich rascal 
whom you do not love. That is a high 
price on honesty. Eve.” 

“Yes,” she said, “but not too high. 
And now, Adam, be my good friend 
still.” 

“ I will,” I replied, “ if I may not be 
more.” 

So she was silent, and so was I. And 
presently I reached down to my basket 
and drew forth a package wrapped in 
a napkin. 

“ Governess,” I asked, “ are you, by 
chance, hungry? ” 

“ Fisherman,” she answered, “ I am 
famished f but not by chance. Open, 
quickly.” 


62 


THE CLAMMER 


So I unwrapped the package, and 
in it were slices of white bread, cut 
thin, and between, lettuce picked that 
morning, crisp and cool. And we ate 
together, and Eve grew merry, and my 
content came back to me. 

“ Fisherman,” she said at last, “ I 
thank you. Now I must go.” 

“ Thank me for what. Eve ? ” 

“It was the sandwiches I meant,” 
she said. 

“And how long must you consider? 
When shall I have my answer ? ” 

“Your answer? Oh, when I come 
to your clambake.” 

“ It shall be to-morrow,” I said. 

“ Oh, not so soon,” she cried. 

“ The day after, then.” 

She hesitated. “ Well,” she said, 
“ good-by.” 

“ I shall come here for you, Eve.” 


THE CLAMMER 63 

But she was gone, and I went, too, 
my brain in turmoil. 

Down under my great pine is a 
pleasant place for a man — or for a 
governess, I should suppose — with 
a heart at ease. And for a fisherman 
whose heart is not at ease it serves as 
well as any place but one, and that 
one not fixed, but moving as she 
moves. And for a certain rich man it 
might, indeed, be pleasant under my 
pine, but not if I could make it other- 
wise. And there was the seat against 
the tree, and from that seat he might 
see my favorite clam beds. But what 
would rich men care for clam beds ? 
And, for the seat, why, I had other 
views. 

It was there, just without the shadow 
of the pine, that the hole was scooped 


THE CLAMMER 


64 

in the ground and lined with great 
stones. And on these stones I kindled 
a fire that roared high; and when it 
had burned long and the stones were 
hot, I raked the ashes off. Then I 
shook down upon the stones fresh 
seaweed from the pile, and on the 
seaweed laid the clams that I had 
digged, myself — and alone — that 
morning. Then, more seaweed; and 
the other things, in layers, orderly, 
with the clean, salt-smelling weed be- 
tween : the lobsters, green and crawl- 
ing, and the fish, fresh caught, and the 
chicken, not too fresh, and the sweet 
and tender corn, and sweet potatoes. 
And over all I piled the weed and 
made a dome that smoked and steamed 
and filled the air with incense. 

Then, my work done, I sat there 
and looked out. And when it was time 


THE CLAMMER 65 

I garbed myself and set forth. And 
my heart-beat was too high, by far, and 
there was a faintness at my throat. 
But I strode along the shore and came 
to our bank, where the colored pebbles 
shone in the sun, ADAM and EVE. 
And there I sat, just where the sod 
breaks off to the sand, and waited. 
And presently there was the light step 
I knew so well, and up came my heart 
into my throat and choked me. But I 
stood, as a fisherman should before a 
governess, and turned. 

And such a governess ! All in light, 
filmy white, with two red roses at her 
bosom, and her hair a glory. And her 
eyes, — there are no other such eyes 
as hers, — her eyes smiled at me, and 
then they opened wide in wonder. 

“Adam,” she said, “is it you.? Are 
you my fisherman .? ” 


66 THE CLAMMER 

“Truly,” I answered, “I am your 
fisherman, whether you will or not, — 
and for as long as I have life.” 

“ The time is not yet, fisherman,” 
she said. “ Remember.” 

“ It is hard to remember, governess, 
even for a fisherman.” 

“ I did not know you, Adam,” she 
said. “ You should have told me.” 

“ What, Eve } That a fisherman 
may have decent raiment ? But I am 
well-to-do — for a fisherman.” 

“ Come,” said she, “ let us go, or we 
shall be late to the clambake.” 

“ With all my heart,” I answered, 
“ though it matters not if we are late. 
For there is but one guest.” 

“ There will be two, Adam.” 

“ Two!” I cried. “ I have asked but 
one. If it is that certain rich man, 
I give you warning he shall have no 


THE CLAMMER 67 

clams of mine, but I will cast him into 
the sea.” 

“ It is my father, Adam,” she replied. 
“ He is here and would see a clambake, 
so I asked him.” 

“ Y our father. Eve ? Do governesses 
have fathers ? And is he here to help 
you ? ” 

“ I hope that he will help me,” she 
said. “ I think he will.” 

And she smiled brightly. 

My heart grew cold, and froze be- 
neath my ribs. “ Then,” I said, “ you 
will not need help from a fisherman, 
governess.” 

“Adam,” she said, reproaching, “let 
us enjoy our clambake.” 

“ That is good doctrine. Eve,” said 
I, “ and I will do my best. But how 
will your father know ” — 

“It is for him to find it,” she an- 


68 THE CLAMMER 

swered, “ and he may, for he has eyes 
and a nose. Now I might find my 
way straight enough, for I see a smok- 
ing mound upon that point, beneath 
the pine. It seems a pleasant place, 
Adam.” 

“ That queer fellow that I mentioned 
let me use it,” I said in haste. “ He is 
from home just now.” 

“ He seems a good friend of yours,” 
she said. 

“ At times I think he is,” I said, 
“ and at other times he is the poorest 
friend I know.” 

As we talked we walked along the 
shore. And we climbed the steep path 
and stood beneath the pine. The dome 
of seaweed still smoked bravely, and 
before the seat against the pine was 
set a little table, upon stakes. It was 
just large enough for two, and upon it 


THE CLAMMER 69 

were all things fitting — and no more. 
No cloth, only the bare white boards 
of pine, rubbed smooth. 

“ Now, governess,” I said, “ the bake 
is done. Do you sit there, and I will 
serve you.” 

“ No, Adam,” she cried, “for I must 
help.” 

She always had her will, that red- 
haired governess. So I took my fork 
and opened the smoking dome, and 
together we set upon the table corn 
and sweet potatoes and a chicken and 
a fish and the lobsters ; and, last of all, 
a great pan of clams. And the rest, 
upon the hot stones, I covered again 
with seaweed. And as I pitched the 
weed, I heard Eve laughing. 

“ Adam,” she said, “ look here. And 
there are two of us.” 

I turned and saw the table filled to 


70 THE CLAMMER 

overflowing, and no place left large 
enough to set a plate ; and Eve sitting 
on the seat, and laughing so that tears 
stood in her eyes. 

“ I should have made the table 
larger,” I said. “ But we need no 
plates. What would the first man have 
done with a plate, Eve ? ” 

“ Or with baked clams?” she asked. 
“ But we are not in Eden.” 

“ I am,” I said. 

And she spoke hastily : “ At least 
the other guest shall not want.” 

“ Let us begin,” I said, “ while the 
clams are hot. There is yet more.” 

So we sat side by side upon the 
bench, and the wind whispered softly 
in the tree above. And suddenly Eve 
rose. 

“ My father, Adam,” she said. “ He 
is just in time.” 


THE CLAMMER 71 

I stood and turned. Her father! It 
was Goodwin the Rich ; and my cas- 
tles were tumbling about my ears. 

So we saw each other, he and I, and 
looked each other up and down, and 
either measured other. And though 
he was Goodwin the Rich, he seemed a 
man, and I hoped he thought as much 
of me. And he said something about 
clams and his daughter, I know not 
what, and I said some foolish thing, I 
know not what. Then I fetched a box 
from my shed, for him to sit upon, — 
a proper seat for the Rich, — and he 
seemed to like it, and tilted back and 
forth, and ate prodigious quantities of 
clams and all things else, and pro- 
nounced them uncommon good. 

And I sat mute, but Eve talked 
steadily, a merry talk, and ate the 
heads of the clams — or tried to eat 


72 THE CLAMMER 

them — and found them but ill eating 
— until I showed her how to take the 
clam by the head and dip him in the 
butter, and eat him properly. And 
she bit the corn from the cob, and 
opened the clams with her fingers, 
and I watched her in adoration and 
despair. For what should I say to a 
Daughter of the Rich ? 

So there we sat long at my little 
table under my great tree, and I saw 
the tide lapping high upon the shore, 
and heard the wind that sighed loud 
in the pine. And indeed that sigh- 
ing wind fell in marvelously with my 
mood, for I was not merry, as any may 
guess. And at last Goodwin the Rich 
had filled him full with lobster and 
corn and clams, and he seemed well 
pleased, and sat upon his box, and 
smiled and exhaled peace. And in a 


THE CLAMMER 73 

while he rose and made some excuse, 
and thanked me and went his way. 

Then, when he was gone, I sat there 
still and looked out upon the water, 
and said nothing. For I could not look 
at Eve and be content, but still I had 
the water and the shore. And I felt 
that Eve was watching me and smiling. 

“ Adam,” she said at last. 

“ Well.?” 

“We have had a pleasant clam- 
bake, have we not? Such a feast as 
I never had.” 

I made no reply. 

“Fisherman,” she said then, “you 
should make some pretty speech.” 

“ Is it for a fisherman,” I asked, “ to 
make pretty speeches ? He must catch 
his fish and dig his clams.” 

“ You have changed so, Adam,” she 
said, reproaching. 


74 


THE CLAMMER 


“It is not I have changed,” I an- 
swered. 

Still I would not look at her, but 
she was silent, and I knew her smile 
was gone. 

“ And is there nothing more ? ” she 
asked. “ Is it ended ? ” 

“ It is ended,” I said. “ Even the 
stones grow cold.” 

“ Adam,” she cried, “ why will you 
be so contrary.? It is not ended. I 
will not have it so.” 

“ The Rich may have what they will,” 
I said, “ nearly, but not quite. I was 
not made for a plaything for the 
Rich.” 

“You are bitter, and you are not 
fair,” she said softly. “ It is not like 
you, Adam. There is something more. 
Why will you make it hard ? ” 

“ I will not make it hard,” I an- 


THE CLAMMER 75 

swered. “ There is nothing else. What 
has a fisherman to say to a Daughter 
of the Rich, or she to him ? So, for 
that other matter. Miss Goodwin, I 
absolve you from an answer.” 

“ Adam,” she cried, “ you make me 
angry. I have a mind to go home.” 

“ Shall I see you on your way ? ” I 
asked. 

“ I will not have it so,” she said, 
and stood and stamped her foot. I 
knew well how she must look, in 
that pretty rage. “ And you forgot, 
Adam.” 

“ What ? ” I asked. “ I would not 
fail in duty.” 

“ My name,” she said. “ I told you it 
was Eve.” 

“ Are you not Miss Goodwin ? ” 

“ Adam,” she said firmly, “ I said 
Eve.” 


76 THE CLAMMER 

“ Well, Eve, have you not done with 
me ? ” I sighed and would not look at 
her, though she stood before me. 

“No, I have not,” she said. “ I 
should laugh if I were not so angry. 
Look at me.” 

I stood and looked down at her, an 
instant but no more. I could not, for 
I should have choked. 

“ Eve, Eve,” I cried, “ have you no 
mercy.? Must the Rich destroy the 
playthings that they weary of .? ” 

“ Adam,” she said, “ you have a duty 
yet. Do not shirk it. A fisherman must 
not shirk his duty.” 

“ I am but a drowned fisherman,” I 
replied. “ But what a drowned man 
may do, I will do.” 

“You promised to be my good 
friend,” she said. “ So come back with 
me along the shore.” . 


THE CLAMMER 


77 

So we went down the steep path 
and side by side along the shore, where 
the water lapped high. And we came 
to our bank, where the pebbles shone 
in the sun, and there Eve sat her 
down. 

“ Sit beside me, Adam.” 

And down I sat, as wretched as man 
was ever, and I looked into the water 
that covered my clam beds. I doubted 
t should have heart to dig in those 
beds again. 

“Adam,” said Eve, and her voice 
(vas not steady, “ I have considered, 
and” — 

“ Eve,” I cried, “ can you not spare 
me that ? If you feel any friendship for 
me, spare me that. I am blind enough, 
but I can see ” — 

“ Oh, you are the blindest man that 
ever was.” And she slipped her hand 


THE CLAMMER 


78 

within my arm, and drew it back again 
and began to cry softly. And at that 
I sprang to my feet, and my heart 
thumped like a hammer, till I thought 
it would burst my ribs. 

“ Eve, Eve,” I cried, my voice shak- 
ing so it shamed me, “ do not play with 
me. Do you mean ” — 

“ Oh, you blind man, can you not 
see what I mean ? Must I say it more 
plainly? It is yes, Adam, and no 
play.” 

And she smiled at me through her 
tears, and suddenly, for me, earth and 
sky were flooded with a great glory. 

Now, what I did next, I shall not 
tell, nor what she said to me ; for those 
are things for my Eve and me to know 
and to remember. But any man who 
has been in such case as mine may 
guess to some purpose, if he will but 


THE CLAMMER 


79 


try. And after some time, I know not 
how long, we sat there side by side 
upon the bank, most decorous, for out 
upon the water was a boat. But we 
might say what we would, and I might 
hold her hand, down upon the sod, out 
of sight, and I might gaze into her 
wonderful eyes and see in them the 
tender light that made them pass all 
wonders. 

“ Such trouble as I had to get you, 
Adam, at the last ! ” 

“ It served you right,” I said, “ for 
your deceit.” 

She laughed, a happy laugh. “ You 
honest fisherman ! ” she said. “ It was 
so easy to deceive you! But never 
again, Adam. You may trust me.” 

“ Always,” I answered, and stooped 
low and kissed the hand I held. And 
she stooped, too, and quite by chance, 


8o 


THE CLAMMER 


and if they saw us from the boat, I did 
not care. 

“ And were you deceived ” I asked. 

“Yes,” she said, “for half an hour. 
You are too honest, Adam. But I love 
you for it.” 

And then we did some other silly 
things, and cared not for the boat. 

“ And what of old Goodwin, Eve ? ” 
I asked, after some while. “ What will 
he say ? ” 

She laughed again her happy laugh. 
“ What did he say, Adam ? He seemed 
pleased, I thought.” 

“Eve,” I cried, “you do not mean” — 

“ He came there for that purpose, 
Adam. I confessed to him. He is my 
friend, I told you.” 

“ Honest gentleman ! ” I said. “ I 
beg his pardon. He may have my clam 
beds if he will.”- 


THE CLAMMER 8i 

"No, no,” she cried, “for they must 
be mine, too, those clam beds. I will 
not have them changed.” 

“ They are yours. Eve,” I said, “ for 
they were mine and I am yours. See 
the colors the old sun spreads over 
them now. He is almost sitting on 
that hill.” 

“We will bid him good-night, to- 
gether,” she said ; “ a happy one, Adam. 
Stand beside me.” 

So we stood, and she clasped my 
fingers close in hers, and we saw the 
sun, that he spread the still water with 
all manner of reds and purples and 
shimmering greens. And as the last 
thin line of red vanished behind the 
bearded hill, we saluted. And again we 
sat upon the bank, and saw the red west 
turn to violet, and then to green. And 
then Eve rose and said good-night. 


82 


THE CLAMMER 


“ Until to-morrow, Adam,” she said. 
“ Until to-morrow. Eve,” I echoed. 
And then she seemed to listen. 

“ They are coming for me, Adam. 
If you love me, run i ” 


II 

A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 





A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 


S OME there may be who will say 
— who do say, no doubt, for they 
dearly love a bit of gossip — that I am 
no better than an adventurer; that I 
have wormed my way into a girl’s heart 
under false pretenses, and will but de- 
vour what I find there ; and that two 
weeks — or three, or whatever the time 
was, according to the usual measure of 
man — is too short a time for two people 
to have found out that they love each 
other. Now, those who are most apt to 
speak thus foolishly are my neighbors, 
who have mated according to their 
lights; and I have not observed that 
they are happier than other folk. Indeed, 
I doubt whether they are as happy. 


86 


THE CLAMMER 


It is not to be imagined that my 
neighbors have remonstrated with me 
upon the subject. But I have observed, 
when I have met two of them together, 
they do but wait until I am out of hear- 
ing — sometimes scarcely that — before 
they get their heads together. 

“ That ’s the fellow,” says one, “ who 
is engaged to Old Goodwin’s daugh- 
ter.” 

“Is it, indeed.?” says the other — 
and turns his head about, that he 
see me the better. And I stop short 
and lean casually upon a wall, my face 
toward them. For I would not cheat 
them of their birthright. 

“Yes,” says the first. “ In two weeks. 
Disgraceful, I call it.” 

They gaze at me — both of them — 
as if I were some monster from a mu- 


seum. 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 87 
“ Rich, is n’t he?” asks the second. 
“ Goodwin, I mean — not this fellow.” 

And they pass on, laughing uproari- 
ously. I would not stint their mirth, 
and giving over my leaning upon the 
wall, I, too, pass on. 

Therefore it comes to pass that I 
have no great opinion of my neighbors’ 
judgment. Indeed, I contend that they 
speak of that they know not of. Eve 
agrees with me in this, — she agrees 
with me in most things, now, — for 
have we not been engaged for one 
whole month, and not the littlest 
shadow on our happiness? And still 
I am wont to take my basket on my 
arm and my clam hoe in my hand and 
wander the shores. But the clams that 
I dig would make but a sorry meal, and 
the clams that I leave — well, they will 
be the bigger and the lustier for digging 


THE CLAMMER 


when I am minded to it. And it is easy 
to guess what clam beds I frequent. 

So it befell that I wandered, one 
afternoon, over the oozy flats toward 
my chosen hunting ground. The sun 
was getting low in the west, and well 
I knew what colors the Great Painter 
was spreading over the still water and 
upon the shining mud. But yet I would 
not look at them, but wended on, at a 
pace too great for a clammer. And joy 
was in my heart. For there, just where 
the sod broke off to the sand and the 
pebbles shone bright in the sun, sat 
Eve. And she smiled upon me as she 
spoke. 

“ Adam,” said she, reproving, “ you 
are almost late to-night.” 

And, at that, the ganglion that I 
have mentioned, that does duty for my 
heart, leaped for joy, so that I was 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 89 
nigh to choking. And indeed, though 
it is but a ganglion, it knows its duty 
well, and leaps for joy or aches with 
sorrow as well as the best-behaved 
heart in the world. I have not known 
the ache for sorrow since the day of 
my clambake ; but it can make a man 
very wretched. And I am convinced 
that it can ache for pure joy, too — 
although that is a different ache, with 
happiness in it. 

So I smiled back at her. “ Almost 
late,” I said, “ is just in time. Late has 
no ” — 

“Adam, Adam,” she cried, “ are you 
become a grammarian ? Grammarians 
are tiresome. And I must go, for I 
have an engagement ” — 

“ No, no,” I answered, in haste ; for 
though in my heart I knew well she 
did but jest, yet I feared to lose her. 


THE CLAMMER 


90 

“ There is small danger that I shall 
become a grammarian. I have put all 
that behind me. It gets farther behind 
me with every day that passes. And 
your engagement is with me.” 

She laughed, a low, sweet laugh. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ it was.” 

And we sat there, silent, and Eve 
gazed at the sun, that was near his set- 
ting, and he gazed back at her. He 
set no longer behind the bearded hill, 
— the time was passed for that, — but 
there were other hills, and he must set 
behind them, for that is his destiny. 
And if any should say to me that I do 
but ill to speak thus of his destiny, for 
that his destiny is a greater than that ; 
and if that one should hint of some 
hypothesis or other concerning the 
life and death of the universe, — they 
may have a new one now — they may 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 91 
get up a new one every week, for 
aught I know or care ; for what is the 
death of the universe to me ? — I 
should answer such an one in this wise: 
“ Go to, you speak foolishly. For have 
I not seen him every evening of my 
life, that he sets in the west? Talk 
not to me of any hypothesis. I know 
what I know.” 

And I was leaning on my elbow, 
down upon the sod, and idly gazing 
at the sun, and idly gazing up at Eve. 
But I gazed at Eve the more. And 
the west was all golden, with a soft 
haze everywhere that left nothing wdth 
sharp outlines, and the sun was set, like 
a great yellow diamond, in its midst. It 
was one of those days — come a month 
or more before its time — when the 
whole earth seems to drowse and doze 
and breathe forth peace. 


92 


THE CLAMMER 


“ Eve,” I said softly, for I almost 
feared lest I break the spell that was 
upon us. 

She turned to me, but did not speak. 

“ Would you have me analyze those 
colors that we see ? I might make 
shift to do it. Would this soft light be 
more beautiful to you ” — 

“ Oh, no, no,” she cried. “ Let it be. 
See, the sun is almost down. Stand 
beside me, Adam.” 

So I stood, and she clasped my fin- 
gers close in hers, and we faced the 
west, for we would bid the old sun good- 
night. And as we stood thus, came 
Old Goodwin, silently, and stood at her 
other side. And she took his hand in 
hers, too, one hand to each, and we 
looked at the sun, and his rim rested 
on the hill. And there stood a tree, 
great and tall like a spire, that showed 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 93 
black against his disk. So we watched 
him sink, and as the last thin line van- 
ished behind the hill, we saluted, all 
three. Then Eve breathed a deep 
sigh. 

“Such a lovely day, Adam,” she 
said, “ ended in beauty ! If all the days 
could be like this ! ” 

I remembered me of a day, not two 
months back, that had been a driving 
drizzle of rain, and of a certain figure 
that had stood beneath a tree, and the 
water dripped from the rim of her wide 
felt hat, and shone upon her long coat. 
And that day, with all its wetness, had 
seemed as good a day as this, for she 
had smiled to see me coming along 
the shore, my face as black as the 
clouds, and not expecting to find her ; 
and she had smiled again to see my 
face change at the sight of her, and to 


94 THE CLAMMER 

see that I could not speak for the joy 
of it. But I had looked at her until 
she flushed red. 

“ Truly,” said I, “ beauty is from 
within, Eve, and each day is but what 
we make it.” 

Then Eve and I sat us down upon 
the bank where we were wont to sit, 
and Old Goodwin gave me a quiet 
smile for greeting. He was a quiet 
man, peaceable and peace-loving, and 
I marveled, often, that he should be 
Goodwin the Rich. But so it was. 
And his automobiles flashed past my 
front gate, as they had done before, 
covering my hedge with dust and en- 
veloping my house in nauseous smells ; 
also as they had done before. But I 
like automobiles better than I did. I 
even ride in them sometimes, with 
Eve, on the back seat ; and Old Good- 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 95 

win rides on the front seat, and drives 
as though the Devil were after him ; 
which I think he is not, for Old Good- 
win is a lovable man, and a good man 
I believe, as men go. So I sit in the 
back seat, with Eve, and hold my 
clothes on, — my hat I long ago learned 
to leave at home, — and I bump here 
and there, and now and then I shout 
a tender word to Eve, and I think my 
thoughts ; and when we turn a corner 
— on two wheels — I thank goodness 
that there are high sides to hold me in. 

But Old Goodwin had gone to a 
tree that was at hand, and from some 
recess had pulled some rubber boots. 
They were old boots, battered and 
dingy with much wading through mud. 
And after the boots came a hat, as old 
and battered as they, and a coat. And 
he put them all on, deliberately, and 


96 THE CLAMMER 

stood. And, standing, he looked more 
like some old fisherman than like 
Goodwin the Rich, which was, no 
doubt, why he wore them. My neigh- 
bors would be but too happy if they 
were to see Old Goodwin — and know 
him — digging in my clam beds, and 
their tongues are ever ready at invent- 
ing tales. Those neighbors of mine 
are a grief to Eve, and an incitement 
to anger, which, as every one knows, 
heats the blood and causes vapors in 
the brain. Eve does not like vapors. 
So I was at some pains to get those 
boots. 

And Old Goodwin, after further 
searching in the tree, drew forth a clam 
hoe and a basket; and being thus 
equipped, he hied him to the flats, 
which were, by now, almost bare, and 
he began to dig. Now that is a luxury 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 97 
which the rich may seldom have, that 
they should dig for clams. Old Good- 
win enjoyed it mightily, splashing here 
and there in his boots, and digging 
as the fancy seized him ; which was as 
like to be where the clams were not as 
where they were. But he cared not at 
all, and drew long breaths for very joy 
of living ; and the clams that he found 
he put within his basket. And with 
his boots, as he waded here and there, 
he stirred long lines of color that went 
rippling in waves of yellow or red or a 
tender blue until they died at our feet. 
For the west was all a brilliant, daz- 
zling yellow, with one'long cloud that 
showed indigo above, but a bright 
crimson below. And behind us were 
other long clouds, and they were crim- 
son, too. But the sky between was a 
tender blue. And I gazed long. 


98 


THE CLAMMER 


“Adam,” cried Eve at last, “how 
can you be content to sit there ? ” 

I looked up in some surprise. 
“ Should I not be content ? ” I said. 
“ For here are you, beside me, and 
before us is spread a picture of peace 
that changes with each moment that 
passes. Look at that tranquil water. 
Eve, with its long tongue of blue that 
marks the current. Should I not be 
content ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” she answered, “ I hope 
so. I trust so, always — with me be- 
side you. I would not have it other- 
wise. But even the tranquil water has 
its current. Let us dig, too.” 

I laughed — as quietly as I could, 
for I would not break that tranquil- 
lity. She had me there. 

“ What a governess ! ” I said. “ She 
has her way always. Well, then, let us 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 99 
dig — though it seems a pity to disturb 
the clams.” 

“ They live in eternal darkness,” said 
Eve. “ It is better for them to be dis- 
turbed. Besides, Adam, I came to dig. 
I got this gown on purpose.” 

I had not noticed the gown. But 
she stood straight before me, and I 
looked her up and down, as she would 
have me. Truly, I could see no differ- 
ence between that gown and any other 
— save that it was shorter. But Eve 
would look adorable in any — and it 
was the woman that I saw. 

I said as much. “ To tell the truth,” 
I said, “ I did not see your gown. 
What does it matter what you wear ? ” 

“To dig.?” she said, reproving. 
“ Have you forgotten, Adam .? Surely 
you would not have your wife drip salt 
water upon her best dress and spot it.? ” 


100 THE CLAMMER 

As she spoke she looked at me, and 
I saw that in her eyes that brought me 
up upon one knee. At least I might 
kiss her hand, with Old Goodwin pot- 
tering about my clam beds. He con- 
siderately turned his back upon us. 

And so we digged for clams, too, 
until the light had faded from the 
western sky, and the twilight was al- 
most gone. And when, at last. Old 
Goodwin turned and lumbered peace- 
fully up the bank and sat him down 
to become once more Goodwin the 
Rich, behold, our basket was well filled. 
For Eve and I have but the one bas- 
ket ; and her back does not tire now. 

And I, too, sat me down — for Eve 
had to take off her rubber boots — and 
I sat me near Old Goodwin. And he 
gave me once more that quiet smile of 
greeting that breathed of peace. 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH loi 
“ And Mrs. Goodwin ? ” I asked. 
“ Will she not see me yet ? ” 

“ Not yet,” he answered, still with 
that quiet smile. “ But do you have 
patience. She will come around — at 
least, I hope so. It was rather — in the 
way of a surprise, you know. And as 
a surprise,” he added, with a chuckle 
of delight, “it was rather good — yes, 
it was a success.” 

I sighed. I am not a patient man ; 
and here was Old Goodwin counseling 
me to have patience. There is nothing 
harder for me to have. 

“ I have had patience,” I said ; “ and 
shall have it until it leaves me. And 
when that w'ill be I do not know, but 
not so long as I can keep it with me. 
And, after all, I do not know that I 
care — except for Eve’s sake.” 

“ No,” he said, and the smile was 


102 THE CLAMMER 

gone. “ You win in any case, — or so 
it seems to me. She loses. Remember 
that. She loses. And so I ask you to 
have patience. It is worth while, if 
only for Eve’s sake.” 

“ It is not easy for me to be patient,” 
I replied. “ But I will, — at least I will 
try. That I promise, and no man can 
promise more. For I win in any case. 
She may gain a son or lose a daughter 
— but Eve — No, I will be patient.” 

Old Goodwin had got his boots 
changed by this, and now he rose — 
Goodwin the Rich. 

“ I thank you, Adam,” he said. He 
called me Adam, too. “ It will be the 
easier for me. And that is something 
to you — is it not ? ” 

I jumped to my feet and seized his 
hand. “ It is much to me,” I cried. 
“ If ever you see me going wrong, I 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 103 
beg you to remind me. For Eve’s 
sake and yours. That will bring me 
back.” 

Indeed, he had been my good friend 
— my good friend and Eve’s. And 
now he smiled once more Old Good- 
win’s quiet smile. I loved that smile, 
breathing peace on earth and good 
will to men. It was easy to see where 
Eve had got hers. She smiled with 
her eyes, too, and in them I saw — but 
perhaps that was for me alone. But 
Old Goodwin, with his quiet smile, 
was yet Goodwin the Rich. It was a 
marvel. 

“ You are good children,” he said. 
“ Good-night, — and bless you.” 

So he ambled off, up the path that 
was beginning to show, even in that 
dim light. For a path is made by 
walking upon it, and even once a day 


104 the CLAMMER 

will serve for that. And that path was 
walked on more than once a day. As 
he reached a turn, he waved his hand 
to us, and we to him. 

“ Eve,” I said, musing, “ there goes 
a good man.” 

She turned to me. “ He is,” she said. 
“ And I am glad to have you think 
that, Adam. There are those — who 
say cruel things of him.” 

“ They are wrong,” I cried. “ I am 
convinced of it. From all envy, hatred, 
and malice, good Lord, deliver us. But 
what of that other rich man. Eve ? ” 

As I looked up at Eve, waiting for 
my answer, I saw that she was smiling 
merrily. 

“ I told him,” she said, “ that I was 
engaged already. And he seemed sur- 
prised at that, and he would know the 
name of the happy man. And I told 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 105 
him that, too. Did I do well? Are 
you ” — She stopped and hesitated. 

“ Am I happy, Eve ? ” I answered 
softly. “ Surely you know that I am. 
Happier than I thought I should ever 
be. And what did he say to that ? ” 

“ Oh, then, he did not understand. 
For I think he did not know you, 
Adam. And I said you were a fisher- 
man, or a clammer, as occasion served. 
You should have seen his face. And 
he but wished me joy, and went ; which 
was what I wanted.” 

I chuckled. For I do chuckle on 
occasion. 

“ I have no other occupation,” I 
said, “ and neither has he. And he 
comes, in his yacht, to ask you, — 
steam yachts are luxuries. Eve, which 
my wife will know nothing of, — he 
comes, very grand, in his yacht, to ask 


io6 THE CLAMMER 

you. And you tell him that you are to 
wed a digger of clams. And where is 
he now ? ” 

“ I do not know,” she answered ; 
and the smile faded. 

And I thought my thoughts, and 
was silent. Truly, the digging of clams 
has its delights, and not all the rich 
are fitted to partake thereof. For how 
many of them see what lies before 
their eyes ? How many of them see 
the colors the old sun spreads on the 
still water and the shining mud ? A 
flat is a flat to them, a thing to be 
shunned ; a thing that will spoil their 
white flannels and get their dresses all 
muddy. Not all of them are Old Good- 
wins. And the works of the Great 
Painter are not for such as these. But 
the colors were gone now, and the 
light, too, and I heard Eve sighing. 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 107 

“ What is it, Eve ? ” I asked. “ Must 
you go ? ” 

“ Soon,” she said, “ very soon. But I 
was thinking of my mother. She hinted 
— almost threatened — that he would 
come again.” 

“ That rich man ? ” I said. “ He is 
better forgot.” And, indeed, I had for- 
got him already. “ After all, what does 
it matter.? His goings and his com- 
ings are nothing to us. And your 
mother — was it hard to tell her .? I 
did what I could.” 

“ It was not easy,” she answered, and 
I knew by her voice that tears were 
in her eyes, though I could not see. 
“ Your note, Adam, she tore up before 
my eyes. Oh, I was angry! And I 
said what I should not. And then she 
said — she was angry, too — that she 
would not come to my wedding ” — 


io8 THE CLAMMER 

“We will have patience, Eve,” I 
said, “and perhaps she may change 
her mind. And for the note, why, it 
is better torn up than passed around 
among her friends to be laughed over. 
Yes, I am glad about the note.” 

“And I saved the pieces — every 
one,” she said then, laughing shyly. 
“ After my mother was gone, I gath- 
ered them up. But now I must go, 
Adam. See, it is quite dark. You may 
come up the path with me — if you 
will — for just a minute.” 

If I would ! And if our parting took 
more than just the minute she had said, 
why, I will bear the blame — if blame 
there is. For I left her happy and with 
her eyes shining. And so I stumbled 
home along the shore, my heart sing- 
ing. And my supper — for what clam- 
mer would dine at seven — was ambro- 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 109 
sia and nectar, being plain corn meal 
mush and fresh milk. And when I 
had filled myself full of it I betook 
me to the seat under the old pine, and 
I gazed at the stars and wondered. I 
saw Arcturus, hanging red, high in the 
west; and Altair blazing above me. 
But, gaze where I would, I saw always 
that wonderful hair with the light upon 
it from the western sky; and those 
wonderful eyes with the light within 
them that made them to outshine Al- 
tair himself. And, gazing, I wondered 
if in all the worlds that revolve about 
those innumerable suns there were a 
being as happy and as content as I. 

Of all the gifts of the gods, happi- 
ness is the most elusive. For they that 
most seek it find it not ; and to them 
that seek it not, but go calmly about 


no 


THE CLAMMER 


their business, on a sudden it appears, 
saying : “ Lo, here am I.” And we 
must not then attempt to hold it fast, 
for ever it breaks away and is gone — 
for a time — and naught is to do but 
wait, with what patience we may, until 
it come again. And the more we have 
patience the sooner will it come back. 

So the days passed, and some days 
I found happiness, and other days I 
found it not ; but usually I had it for 
a bedfellow. And it was lucky that I 
did, for what is to be said of a clam- 
mer who cannot sleep.? And each 
afternoon, when the sun was low, I 
wended slowly over toward my clam 
beds along the shore where the water 
lapped ever. And the Great Painter 
spread his colors with lavish hand, 
and peace covered the earth and was 
upon the face of the waters. And 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH iii 
peace was in my heart, too, for there 
on the bank sat Eve, and she smiled 
to see me come. 

And it befell on a day that there 
was a flat calm, and the sun veiled his 
face before he set ; and, above, the veil 
spread out in a thin sheet, feathery 
and white, so that I could not tell 
where it began. 

“ Look, Eve,” I said. “ To-morrow 
it will be stormy.” 

And she said nothing, but only 
looked as she was bid, being content 
to take my word in all things. But Old 
Goodwin was not. 

“ Indeed ! ” he said. “ What makes 
you think so, Adam ? ” 

Then I was tempted. I might have 
entered upon a disquisition concern- 
ing cyclones and the sequence of the 
weather. But I put that temptation 


112 


THE CLAMMER 


from me. It was but a part of my 
past. 

“ Oh,” I answered simply, “ the look 
of the sky.” 

“And in what does the look of the 
sky differ from its look on any other 
day } ” he asked. “ I see no differ- 
ence.” 

“ It is hard to tell,” I said ; “ but this 
is the hurricane season. I may be quite 
mistaken. But I think it will storm to- 
morrow.” 

And so he was forced to be content, 
though he was but half convinced ; and 
he would have betaken him to the dig- 
ging of clams, but the tide was not half 
down. This he mourned, with frequent 
upward glances at the sky. For Old 
Goodwin was become more skilled in 
the finding of clams than he had been. 
Indeed, I marveled what he could do 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 113 
with the clams he dug, for he no longer 
gave them to us. I mentioned it to 
Eve. 

She laughed, whispering. “ I fear, 
Adam,” she said, “that he is con- 
taminated. He sits up late at night, 
after everybody else is gone to bed — 
and I met him yesterday coming from 
the kitchen. He looked furtive as he 
smiled in passing. Yes, I fear that he 
is contaminated.” 

“ Steamed clams } ” I whispered, in 
reply. “ But steamed clams are not 
baked clams. They are, to clams from 
a bake, what — a bath in a tub is to a 
dip in that great ocean.” 

“ It is the best that he can do,” she 
said. “ He may not have a clambake. 
My mother ” — 

“ Ah,” said I, illuminated, “ the poor 
man 1 We will have one for him. 


THE CLAMMER 


114 

And we will ask your mother, too. She 
can but refuse, at the worst. And per- 
haps”— 

Eve shook her head. “ She will re- 
fuse,” she said, — “ or take no notice 
of your asking. But father will be 
grateful. There are so few things the 
rich may do simply. Father would like 
to muss around, himself, — to help you 
with the bake, Adam, — and wear his 
old clothes. He generally has a horrid 
time.” 

She was smiling and eager, and her 
eyes shone. I nodded. “ He shall have 
his clambake.” 

So Eve went in early, and Old Good- 
win, for the sky was become all gray 
and nothing to see. And to me there 
is nothing so dismal as a dull gray sky 
when there is neither wind nor rain. 
There is the same gray light on the 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 115 
water, the same wherever I look, and 
all nature seems waiting. After a day 
of it, I am fit for battle and murder. 
But now a little breeze came creep- 
ing in out of the east, chill and drear. 
And I was wakened in the night by 
the wind, howling like a lost soul in 
torment. I turned over and drew the 
covers closer and slept again. 

And when the day broke, it was not 
tranquil, and no sun to see ; and the 
wind shrieking and yelling out of the 
southeast like some wild thing, with 
gusts of drenching rain. I thought of 
my late corn, which was heavy with 
great ears — and had been tall, too, 
the night before. It was like to be 
blown flat in that wind — as flat as if 
it had been harvested — and what was 
a clambake without fresh corn ? But 
there was no help for it. I ate my 


ii6 THE CLAMMER 

breakfast at my leisure, — there would 
be more wind before there was less, — 
put on oil-skins, boots, and sou’wester, 
and fared forth. 

As I passed down through my gar- 
den I glanced at my corn. It was flat, 
as I expected, save one great stalk, 
stronger than its comrades, or more 
deeply rooted, and that stalk waved 
and thrashed about in anguish. It 
would break soon, I knew. And I 
mused as I leaned against the wind 
upon its fate — how it must be broken 
and die, while the stalks less well 
rooted did but go down before the 
blast, and live and grow. But I gave 
my corn no more thought, for I was 
come to the steep path that led me 
down along the shore, and by the 
water, now all brown with sand and 
mud that had been stirred from the 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 117 

bottom. For, although it was fairly 
quiet here, being in the lee of the 
bluff, the water was well stirred, as any 
might guess from looking out upon it. 
And I came to the bank, where the 
sod breaks off to the sand, and no Eve 
was there. And, indeed, I had known 
better, but can a man help hoping ? 
It was much too early, and who could 
expect her to come down in that wind ? 
And as I made these excuses for her, 
behold, she stepped from behind a 
great tree, and she laughed aloud to 
see my face. 

“ Oh, Adam ! ” she cried, “ one would 
think, to see you as you came, that you 
had lost your last friend, and were just 
come to the funeral.” 

“ And then,” I answered, smiling up 
at her, — “ what then. Eve } ” 

“Why, then, — you seemed surprised 


ii8 THE CLAMMER 

and ” — With that she stopped, and 
she stood upon the bank above, and I 
on the sand below ; and she put her 
hands upon my shoulders, one on each, 
and looked down into my face. And 
I looked up into her eyes, and I forgot 
the storm, and I forgot that wild wind 
that blew, and I forgot all things save 
what I saw there. And, an instant, 
she bent to me. “ Oh, Adam, Adam ! ” 
she cried, “ I am glad, glad that you 
care so much. For it is not easy for 
me.” 

And I said no word, but only held her 
so for some while. And presently she 
laughed, as if she were half ashamed, 
and drew her from my arms. And I 
saw that her face was wet. It may 
have been the rain — I do not know’. 
A fisherman, in sou’wester and oil- 
skins, holding in his arms a Daugh- 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 119 
ter of the Rich. I laughed aloud at 
the thought. For, though she, too, 
had on boots, she seemed no fit mate 
for such as I — in her long coat, that 
covered her from neck to heel, and 
with her wide felt hat, tied down be- 
hind. Indeed, I grudged that to neces- 
sity — for her hair was all hid, under 
the hat. 

Out from my clam beds — some way 
out — is a reef of rocks. It is grim 
enough in any weather: at low water 
just showing its rough head, dark 
brown, barnacled, bearded with sea- 
weed ; at high tide, in calm weather, 
nothing but a wide expanse of placid 
water. For which reason, the govern- 
ment, in its wisdom, and to protect 
the lives of yachtsmen, who ever walk 
in darkness — the fishermen know it 
from the beginning of time — the gov- 


120 THE CLAMMER 

ernment had set, upon the most out- 
ward rock a spindle. It was awkward 
enough, that spindle, with its sprawl- 
ing arms, like a telegraph pole — but 
it served its purpose well in ordinary 
weather I have no doubt. But now, — 
this was no ordinary weather, as any 
might see, — it seemed like to go down, 
even as my solitary stalk of corn ; to 
be torn from its hold in the rock, or 
the shaft twisted and bent and broken, 
till it served no longer. 

“ Look, Eve,” I shouted. For the 
gale tore my words out of my mouth. 
“ The spindle — it will go down at high 
tide — or before. See, it is bent, al- 
ready.” 

For, as I spoke, a great sea smashed 
down upon the rock, sending its spray 
high ; and when the wind had blown 
the bits of broken water far to lee- 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 121 
ward, leaving the rock in a smother of 
foam, I saw the spindle, and it stood 
straight no longer. And I watched 
for the fellow of the sea that had come. 
But Eve held her peace. And we two 
watched the rock, with its leaning 
spindle, and ever it leaned the more, 
but it kept fast hold on the rock, 
though it was nearly buried in the 
foam. And ever the tide came higher, 
until it was buried in every sea that 
came. So it was come to dinner time ; 
and I felt a great hunger that gnawed 
within me. For a clammer must eat, 
even as other men. 

“ Eve,” I said, “ it is my dinner time, 
and I am hungry.” 

“ Oh, Adam,” she cried, “ can you 
think about eating — with this to see ? 
I thought better of you.” 

“ Think none the worse of me,” I 


122 THE CLAMMER 

answered, “ that when I am hungry I 
would eat. For I am not one of your 
theorists who believe that when a man 
is hungry he should go without. But 
I believe that hunger is a sign from 
Heaven. God gave man hunger that 
he might know when to eat ; and thirst, 
that he might know when to drink. 
And so I do. I have never found 
myself the worse for it, but the better. 
Hunger breeds an evil temper, as you 
may see. Mark how much pleasanter 
I am when I have dined.” 

And she laughed at me. “ And the 
spindle, Adam,” she said. “ It may go 
down, and you at dinner. And this 
storm — surely, it is worth staying for.” 

“ The storm will increase,” I replied, 
“ according to the lore of my neighbors, 
until full tide. In such matters their 
lore is older than my learning. As for 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 123 
the spindle, it will go or it will hold 
fast as it is ordained for it. If it hold 
fast, well ; and if it go down, why, — 
that will be well enough, too. At least, 
I shall have dined. I wish that I might 
ask you to dine with me. Eve. We 
shall have roast mutton, with corn, and 
potatoes, and — whatever else the wind 
has left. And a steamed pudding, 
after. It is not fashionable, but it will 
be good. My cook makes excellent 
steamed puddings. And a dinner 
eaten alone — it is a lonely meal.” 

Again Eve laughed, then sighed. I 
know that she sighed, for I saw her ; 
I could not hear. 

“ I should love it, Adam,” she said, 
“ but you know I may not.” 

“ Love what. Eve ? ” I asked. “ The 
steamed pudding ? ” 

“ No doubt,” she answered, “ for now 


124 the clammer 
that you have reminded me, I am 
hungry, too. But you know that was 
not what I meant. I should love to 
dine with you in your own house. 
But it will not be long — there will 
not be many more lonely dinners” — 

She hesitated and stopped. But I 
knew. “ Let us count them,” I said. 
“ Let us see how many.” 

And again the storm was forgot, and 
the great wind that blew. And so she 
went in, and I tramped home, in the 
rain, along the shore. But my dinner 
was too quickly eaten for a clammer, 
and I thanked a kind Heaven that 
there were not many more such — 
there were far too many, but they 
could be counted — there were less 
than a hundred. And having bolted 
my dinner, which deserved better of 
me, I hurried back to the bank, and 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 125 
there stood Eve, and she smiled to 
see me come along the shore. 

“Eve,” I observed, “see now for 
what you are responsible. For, dining 
alone, I did but bolt my dinner, for I 
would not miss a minute of your com- 
pany. And thereby I risked dyspep- 
sia. And that is not the worst, for the 
ills that follow hard upon it are these : 
melancholy and an evil disposition; 
and backbiting and gossip, and, in 
short, all the qualities which you see 
in my neighbors. And ” — 

But she was laughing. “ Is that not 
enough ? ” she asked. “ I would not 
be responsible for more, and I promise 
to give you an hour for your dinner — 
hereafter. You will have no need to 
hurry back, for I shall not be here 
sooner. But this is an exception. We 
shall not have such another storm, 


126 THE CLAMMER 

surely, in the next ” — Again she 
stopped. “ Look, Adam, can you see 
the spindle ? Is it gone ? ” 

I looked. The tide was risen now, 
so that only now and then, between 
the great seas that came, could I catch 
a glimpse of it ; and I saw that it was 
bent almost even with the rock. It 
would be useless for its purpose even 
if it held, and the tide that was com- 
ing would be very high. Even now 
the waves lapped about my feet as I 
stood upon the sand, and the seaweed 
washed against the bank, and it lacked 
an hour of high tide. I feared for the 
pebbles, that they would no more shine 
in the sun. 

“ I see it,” I said. “ It is yet fast to 
the rock — as fast as any oyster. But 
it is bent flat, so that it is no manner 
of use. It may as well go as stay. The 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 127 
water covers it already, or it would, if 
it were smooth.” 

And, indeed, the seas broke no 
longer over the rock, save an occa- 
sional one, higher than the rest, and 
the trough lower. Such a sea did but 
open an instant, to show the top, dark 
brown and barnacled, then closed 
again, roaring, in a whirlpool of foam. 
And Eve said nothing, but only looked. 
And as we stood looking, and the 
rain running off from our clothes in 
streams. Old Goodwin came down to 
us, in oilskins and boots and sou’wester. 
And he said nothing, either, which was 
not strange, for he was not a man of 
words. And when he had been there 
some while, came a mighty sea, and 
fell upon the rock. I shouted at the 
sight of that sea ; I could do no other. 
And when it was passed, the water 


128 THE CLAMMER 

opened once more and there was but 
the shaft, bent and twisted. 

“ Gone ! ” I cried. And Eve looked 
at me with wide eyes, but Old Good- 
win only nodded. 

So we three watched for some while, 
and at last the water was as smooth 
over the rock as it was elsewhere. 
And that is not saying that it was 
smooth at all — even on my clam beds, 
where it was, in a measure, sheltered, 
the waves broke high, so that I feared 
for the bank ; but the great seas raced 
evenly over the rock, and it was as there 
was none there, for no man could tell 
its place. 

Then, on a sudden, the rain ceased 
and the wind increased, and it seemed 
that the whole earth must be torn up 
by the roots. And up on the hill I 
heard the crash of a tree, falling, and 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 129 
then another. And the water was level 
with the bank, and the waves broke 
over my pebbles. Old Goodwin turned 
at the sound of the trees, and said 
something, I know not what. For the 
noise of the wind and the noise of the 
water was a great noise, and swallowed 
up the sound of his voice. And he 
looked once more out to sea, and there 
came that into his face that made me 
to look, too. 

Now there had been, a moment be- 
fore, a veil of rain over the surface of 
the sea that prevented our seeing more 
than a little way. But now the veil was 
withdrawn, and I looked, and rubbed 
my eyes, and looked again. For there 
came a yacht — a steam yacht, and she 
was steaming her best, and with the 
wind nearly behind her she came at 
a great pace. Now she was lost in a 


THE CLAMMER 


130 

hollow, so that I saw no more than 
her stack, belching smoke, and now 
she rose on a wave, so that I saw her 
hull. What fool, thought I, would 
venture from a safe harbor in such 
weather ? If they had left port before 
this storm, — well, it is but a poor 
skipper that knows the weather no 
better, — and they were not like to 
have been a day’s steaming from some 
good harbor. And as I thought these 
things, the yacht was come nearer, and 
I knew it, and I knew that here was 
that certain rich man come to plague 
me. I even saw the man himself, 
standing forward, and holding on by 
a stanchion. And as I saw I marveled, 
for I had supposed the man a coward. 

I turned to Eve. “ Do you know” — 
But I did not finish, for she nodded ; 
and her look was troubled. I hated 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 131 
that rich man with a mighty hate. 
And while I still gazed into her eyes, 
I saw them open wide with horror. 

“ Oh, Adam,” she cried. “ The spin- 
dle is gone, and they will go on the 
rocks ! See ! ” 

I turned. They had come on swiftly 
— too swiftly — and now were headed 
straight for the place where the rock 
lay hid ; steaming headlong to destruc- 
tion. I hesitated — I say it to my 
shame, though a man is but a man 
after all — I hesitated an instant; then 
Old Goodwin began to shout, and I 
shouted, too, wading into the water up 
to my waist, and waving my hands. 
For I would warn them farther off. 
And at our shouting, the man did but 
get upon the rail, still holding by the 
stanchion, and lean far out, and put 
his hand behind his ear. For the wind 


132 THE CLAMMER 

whipped the words out of our mouths 
before they were well spoken, and they 
reached him not at all. And the yacht 
was but a length from the rock. And 
the man understood, though he could 
not hear, and he leaned yet farther 
out, to call up to the captain ; but the 
captain had understood, too, and she 
was already turning. And as we looked 
and held our breath for fear, she struck 
with a great shock and careened, and 
the great seas dashed high and hid 
her for a moment. And when she 
rolled back again and I could see, the 
man was gone. 

Then Eve shrieked and I cursed, 
under my breath, and I hurried to 
shore; and hastily I stripped off my 
coats and cast down my sou’wester 
upon them as they lay, and tried to 
pull off my boots. But they were filled 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 133 
full with water from my wading, and 
would not come. So I pulled out my 
knife and ripped them down the side ; 
for I was of no mind to be weighted 
down with rubber boots. Then they 
came off easily enough, and I rose and 
looked at Eve. 

“ Oh, Adam,” she cried, “ can you 
swim — in that water } ” 

I looked out upon the water that 
was roaring and racing. A fish might 
fail to swim on the top of that water, 
and be well excused for failing. And 
I was no fish, though I could swim 
passing well. 

“ Yes,” I said. 

“ Then,” said Eve, “ go, and God 
keep you ! ” And she kissed me, tak- 
ing no shame to herself that her father 
saw, and those on the yacht — they 
had little leisure for observing — and 


THE CLAMMER 


134 

some of my neighbors, who had gath- 
ered near, — who had leisure. 

And, with that kiss upon my lips, 
I could have gone to my death with 
a light heart ; indeed, I knew not but 
that I was going to it. So I plunged 
in and swam, thinking as I w'ent, with 
some bitterness, that here was I, risk- 
ing my life for a man who was come 
but to give me trouble. Truly, I 
thought, he has begun well, and it will 
be no strange matter if the beginning 
and the ending are the same. Then 
I was come to an end of my shelter, 
and the wind tore at me, and the waves 
buffeted me, so that I was forced to 
give all my thought to my swimming ; 
and that was well, too. 

Now I have no purpose to give an 
account of my fool’s errand that I had 
swum out upon, for thus should I be 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 135 
but a boaster and a braggart and one 
marked out for destruction. But I 
found the man, — I do not well know 
how, — and I brought him to shore, to 
Eve and Old Goodwin waiting there ; 
and I do not well know how I did 
that either. And there I left him, to 
be cared for by those same neigh- 
bors of mine, and to recover or not, 
as it happed him. But I turned to 
Eve before I went, and she was cry- 
ing softly. 

“ Oh, Adam, Adam,” she said ; and 
with that she stopped and said no 
more, for she could not speak. But 
she put her arms about me, all wet as 
I was, and held me tight, and I heard 
her voice whispering, but I could make 
out no words. And when she had 
made an end of her whispering, she 
let me go. 


136 THE CLAMMER 

“ Now, Adam^” she said, “ you are 
all wet, and you are all weary. Do you 
go home and get off those wet clothes, 
and rest yourself. And when you are 
all rested I will come and tell you how 
he is." 

So I went, and weary I must have 
been, for I thought not to marvel that 
Eve should come to my house, and I 
gave no thought to the yacht, that had 
been in evil case enough when I saw 
her last. And as I plodded along the 
shore, it chanced that I glanced out 
upon the water. For the wind was be- 
ginning to fall already. And the yacht 
was on the rock, where she had struck, 
but she had swung clean around, so 
that her bow was toward the seas, 
and she seemed like to slide off. And 
as I looked, a boat put out from 
shore and pulled toward her. After 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 137 
all, my neighbors have their good 
points. 

And when I had got into dry clothes 
and had swallowed a draught of hot 
tea I felt somewhat rested. So I went 
out and sat me down on the seat un- 
der my pine. From that place I could 
see the west, and the clouds were some- 
what broken and driving fast, but no 
glimpse of the sun yet, though he must 
be near his setting. And out upon the 
water lay the yacht, at anchor in a spot 
that was- sheltered, and she was well 
down by the head. About her, like a 
flock of crows, were some small boats. 
And I looked no more upon the yacht, 
but I gazed at the tree like a spire, 
that should show against the sun’s disk 
as he set, and I thought with bitter- 
ness on what I had done; and my 
thoughts were the thoughts of Ahab. 


138 THE CLAMMER 

In the bitterness of my heart I spoke 

aloud. 

“ Hast thou found me, O mine 
enemy ” 

And, even as I spoke, I heard be- 
hind me the light step that I knew 
and loved, and there was Eve. And 
she sat upon the seat beside me. 

I looked at her questioning. “ Is it 
well?” I asked. 

She smiled up at me. “ It is well,” 
she answered ; and my bitterness fell 
from me as a garment, and I marveled 
that it was so. 

And so we sat and saw the twilight 
fail, early, and the night fall. And out 
upon the water, a light marked where 
the yacht lay at her anchor, and the 
light bowed slowly, up and down ; for 
there yet was a swell coming in, al- 
though the wind had fallen. And 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 139 
peace fell upon my spirit, and a great 
content. 

Under my great pine is a pleasant 
place for a man — or for a Daugh- 
ter of the Rich, as I make bold to 
guess — with a heart at ease. And for 
a certain rich man it might, indeed, be 
pleasant under my pine, — I did not 
know. But I was to find out, for a 
week had gone by since I hauled him 
ashore like any drifting mess of sea- 
weed, and with no more life in him, as 
it seemed, than in the weed ; his legs 
and his arms trailing in the water. 
And, Eve asking it, I invited him to 
my clambake that I made to pleasure 
Old Goodwin. From my seat against 
the tree he might look out upon my 
clam beds. But it might well be that 
he would not care for clam beds ; for 


140 THE CLAMMER 

every Rich man is not an Old Good- 
win. And he might see, too, the place 
where he so nearly lost his life. And 
it might well be that he would not care 
for that, either. But he should have 
the chance. And, to make the tale com- 
plete, I had asked Mrs. Goodwin, too. 

It was there, just without the shadow 
of the pine, that the hole was scooped 
in the ground, and lined with great 
stones. Indeed, this was already done ; 
for had I not had a clambake there ? 
And, that I might not forget it — 
there was little danger of my forget- 
ting — and, too, that I might have 
other clambakes, I had left the hole as 
it was, and the great stones. And on 
these stones I kindled a fire that roared 
high; and when it had burned long 
and the stones were hot I raked the 
ashes off. And Old Goodwin helped 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 141 
me, and he whistled as he worked. 
He was no artist at the whistling, but 
yet it gave me pleasure to see him so 
well pleased, so that I must needs join 
him in his whistling ; and I am no 
artist at it, either. But we were merry 
at our whistling, and we made so great 
a racket with it that any one would 
have thought to hear us, there was a 
flock of strange birds and it was spring- 
time ; instead of which it was fall and 
the birds had left, except some robins 
and some sparrows and the meadow- 
larks. And even they were silent. 
And the terns had gone, too, — that 
always marks the change of season, 
for me, — and the winter gulls had 
come to take their place. 

And when, at last, we had the em- 
bers all raked off and the stones clean. 
Old Goodwin leaned upon his rake 


142 THE CLAMMER 

and wiped his forehead. It was hot 
there, so near the hot stones, and the 
fire just burned out. And he began 
to laugh, for sheer pleasure and for 
the merriment that he might hold in 
no longer ; and, laughing, he could 
whistle no more. 

“ Adam,” he said, “ do you know 
what it is that you are whistling ? ” 

And I stopped long enough to an- 
swer. “ No,” I said. “ It does not mat- 
ter. Make a glad noise.” 

And, with that, I began to sing ; 
and I am only worse at singing than 
I am at whistling. But what cared I ? 
And Old Goodwin, as soon as he could, 
for his laughter, joined me in singing. 
And he sang worse than I. But we 
cared not at all, — our hearts were at 
ease, — and took our forks and shook 
down upon the stones fresh seaweed 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 143 

from the pile, and on the seaweed laid 
the clams that I had digged that morn- 
ing. Then, more seaweed; and the 
other things, according to their season, 
orderly, in layers : the lobsters, and the 
fish, fresh caught, and the chicken, not 
too fresh, and sweet potatoes and white, 
and the last of my corn that had sur- 
vived the storm. I had a fear that the 
ears might not be well filled — but it 
was fresh and tender. And over all 
we piled the weed and made a dome 
that smoked and steamed and filled 
the air with incense. 

Then, our work done, we sat there 
and looked out, and were silent. At 
last Old Goodwin spoke, and he was 
looking at the smoking dome. 

“ Adam,” he said, “ will there be an- 
other clambake after this ? ” 

“ I fear not,” I answered. “ For it 


144 the CLAMMER 

gets on toward winter, and it will be 
too cold. But when summer comes 
again we may have many, we three.” 

He looked at me and smiled. “ I 
feared this was the last,” he said. “ But 
when summer comes again we will 
have many — God willing. You are 
good to please an old man so. I thank 
you, Adam.” 

Now that was nothing more than a 
figure of speech for him to call him- 
self an old man. For he was a very 
boy, and could whistle and sing and 
dig clams and mess about, and youth 
was in his heart. And w^ho, having 
youth in his heart, can be rightly called 
old ? Indeed, in point of years, he was 
not old ; for he was not turned sixty, 
as I should have guessed. But he 
was again silent, gazing at the smok- 
ing dome of weed, and I made no an- 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 145 
swer, but I gazed out over the water. 
And presently Old Goodwin rose and 
went to garb himself, for he was 
dressed in his clammer’s clothes, that 
were well stained with mud and with 
salt water and with clams. And then 
I, too, would change my clothes, for I 
was no better dressed than he. 

And when I was all arrayed I set 
out along the shore, and my heart- 
beat was too high, by far; but my 
spirits were high, too, so that I scarce 
kept from singing aloud, or from wav- 
ing my arms and shouting at the deep- 
sounding sea. But I remembered that 
certain Rich man that I was to meet. 
What would he think of a clammer 
that sang aloud, by himself, — and 
most outrageously, — or that shouted 
an occasional line from Homer — what 
could he think, but that I knew no 


146 THE CLAMMER 

better — and no more? So I strode 
along the shore and came to the bank 
where the sod broke off to the sand 
and the pebbles shone in the sun ; for 
the storm had spared them. And I 
sat not down, but paced to and fro. 
And soon came Eve, and up leaped 
my heart into my throat and choked 
me ; and behind her came Old Good- 
win and that other Rich man. A mo- 
ment only Eve smiled at me and then 
she stood aside. And that other Rich 
man stepped forward and broke in 
upon Old Goodwin’s speech; for he 
would have introduced us. 

“ We need no introduction,” he said. 
“ Thanks seem a poor thing enough 
to give in return for my life, but I can 
offer you no more.” 

I took the hand he held out, and 
I murmured something, I know not 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 147 
what, about its being of no conse- 
quence, — which, indeed, it was not, 
though I should not have said so. 
And we looked each other up and 
down, and either measured other. And 
what he thought of me I did not 
know — nor care. 

So we wended along the shore to 
the steep path, and Eve walked beside 
me. She was not in white now, for it 
was cool, with a sharp wind out of the 
northwest. Indeed, what she had on I 
did not know — some dark stuff gown 
that well became her — I was not look- 
ing at her gown. No doubt I was 
grinning like any idiot ; but I did not 
hold her hand, for behind us walked 
Old Goodwin and that Rich man — that 
Rich man that I would have cast into 
the sea so short a time before. And, 
walking so, we came to the steep path 


148 THE CLAMMER 

and climbed it, and we stood beneath 
my pine. And before the seat against 
the tree stood my table that I had made 
large enough for four; but the seat 
was unchanged, and it held but two. 

Old Goodwin looked upon the seat, 
and he said no word, but he smiled 
his quiet smile and betook him to my 
shed. I bethought me of the other 
guest that I had asked. 

“And Mrs. Goodwin?” I said. “Will 
she not come?” But I did but jest, 
for I had had no idea that she would 
come. 

And that Rich man spoke, and what 
he said was a surprise to me. “ Mrs. 
Goodwin wished me to say,” said he, 
“ that she feared to catch cold as the 
wind is somewhat biting. But she 
thanks you for asking her.” 

Then I looked at Eve, and she 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 149 
seemed surprised, too. But Old Good- 
win had found his box that he had sat 
upon before, and he brought it out and 
set it by the table. 

“ I will sit here,” he said. “ I have an 
affection for this box. It tilts nicely.” 

And that other stared a moment. 
“I wonder,” he said at last, “if there is 
another — no, no.” For I had started 
for the shed. “ Let me get it.” 

And I laughed and nodded, and he 
went. And we heard a tremendous 
racket, and presently he came, bringing 
a box that was the fellow to Old Good- 
win’s. Laughing, too, he set it down. 

“ There ! ” he said. “ And now for 
the clams.” He looked at me. “ Is 
there a fork for me? You must let 
me help.” 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” I said hastily. 
“ You and Eve are the guests.” 


150 THE CLAMMER 

And so Eve and he sat, while Old 
Goodwin helped me. And I took my 
fork and opened the smoking dome, 
and together we set upon the table 
corn and potatoes, both sweet and 
white, and a chicken and some fish and 
the lobsters ; and last of all a great 
pan of clams. And the rest, upon the 
hot stones, I covered again with sea- 
weed; but not deep, for soon we should 
want more clams — and more fish and 
another chicken, for here were three 
good men to eat them ; and what 
three men can eat at a clambake is 
nothing less than a marvel. Eve did 
her part, too. And Old Goodwin, set- 
ting the things upon the table, was as 
pleased as Punch. And as I pitched 
the weed, again I heard Eve laughing. 

“ Now, who would believe,” she said, 
“ that had not seen,” — 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 151 

But Old Goodwin interrupted her 
cheerily. “Not a bit too much — not 
half enough,” he said. 

So Eve and I sat side by side upon 
the bench, and the two Rich men sat 
opposite, on their boxes. And no 
sound was heard save the noise of the 
wind that whispered softly in the tree 
above, and the noise of the clam shells 
as they struck upon the ground among 
their fellows that had gone before. 
And if we spoke little or not at all, but 
only ate, we were merry at our eating, 
which, as I have heard, wards off dys- 
pepsia. For dyspepsia abides not with 
them that are merry, but is mortally 
afraid of a laugh. And those two Rich 
men got to tilting back and forth upon 
their boxes — they had been too busy 
at the first — and, having eaten a pro- 
digious quantity of clams and all things 


THE CLAMMER 


152 

else, they fell a-laughing as they had 
been two boys; and they called for 
more clams. So I opened the bake 
again, and, behold, there were no clams 
left, not one, so that I marveled at it. 

I must have looked blank with 
astonishment. “ Now who would have 
supposed,” said I, “ that we could have 
eaten them all ? For I thought that I 
had had enough for six at least.” 

At that Old Goodwin burst out 
laughing afresh. “ If you could have 
seen your face, Adam! But never 
mind. No doubt we have eaten more 
than is good for us, as it is.” 

“ I am sure of that,” I observed. 
And the two Rich men, filled full of 
lobster and corn and clams, did but 
laugh again, and they tilted upon their 
boxes. And I was filled full, too, but 
with content more than with clams, so 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 153 
that the wind that sighed in my pine 
sighed merrily. 

We sat long at my little table under 
my great tree, but at last it was cold, 
for the sun was gone behind a black 
cloud. And Old Goodwin rose, reluc- 
tantly, and that other Rich man rose 
too, and his pocket that had been 
toward Old Goodwin bulged. And 
when he emptied it there were clam 
shells that Old Goodwin had deposited 
there. And he laughed — I thought 
him good to laugh — I fear that, in his 
place, I should not have laughed — 
and he chased Old Goodwin. And 
when he had caught him and had 
filled his pocket with the shells, he 
came and stood before us, where we 
yet sat upon the seat. 

“ I have to thank you,” he said to 
me, and his laugh was gone, “ for the 


THE CLAMMER 


154 

pleasantest time and the most delicious 
feast that I have had in many a long 
day.” Then he hesitated and looked 
away a moment; but presently his 
eyes came back to mine. “ You are a 
better man than I am, Adam, and bet- 
ter worthy of her. From my heart I 
wish you joy. I shall not come again 
to plague you.” Again he looked away. 
“ And I shall say as much to Mrs. 
Goodwin, — with your permission.” 

And I stood, and took the hand he 
offered ; but I did not speak. I could 
not for a moment. Then I mumbled 
something, I know not what, about his 
kindness. But it did not matter what 
I said. And my heart warmed to him, 
and I was sorry for him — he had lost 
so much — but he took it as a man 
should. I thought nothing of his hav- 
ing called me Adam ; indeed, I doubted 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 155 
if he knew it. And so he went, quickly, 
without so much as looking back, and 
Old Goodwin followed him as quickly, 
and they went down the steep path, 
and we heard their laughter. And I 
turned to Eve, and she smiled up at 
me. 

“ Oh, Adam,” she cried, softly, “ if 
we only could ! ” 

“We can but try, Eve,” I answered, 
smiling back at her ; “ and we will. He 
seems worth it.” And then I mused 
awhile, and at last I spoke my thoughts. 
“ Eve,” I said, “ why did you choose 
me.?” 

She looked at me, her eyes wide. 
“ Why did I choose you .? ” she asked, 
perplexed. “ What do you mean, 
Adam ? Would you give me up .? ” 

“ Now, God forbid,” I cried, “ that I 
should do that thing ! What man, hav- 


156 THE CLAMMER 

ing got you, would give you up ? But 

that Rich man” — 

She laughed, a merry laugh. “ Why, 
that is simple — as simple as life itself. 
I chose you because I loved you, and 
I did not love that Rich man. And 
why it should be so I do not know.” 

And what I did at that, I leave it to 
any to guess; for Old Goodwin was 
gone and that other, and there was no 
one there save only Eve and me, under 
my great tree. 

“ I thank Heaven that it is so,” I 
said, at last, “ and what the reason is 
I do not care.” 

And, at that, the black cloud that was 
before the sun spilled a few drops, great 
drops that splashed as they struck. For 
it was well over us, and almost passed. 

Eve was distressed. “Adam,” she 
said, “ do you believe in signs } ” 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 157 

“Yes,” I answered, “if you like. 
Would you take that cloud to be a 
sign .? ” 

She nodded, saying nothing. 

“ Well,” said I, rising, “so be it. But 
come where we can see the east, and 
I will interpret for you.” 

So she rose, too, and together we 
went down the steep path and along 
the shore. And as we went I inter- 
preted for her in this wise. 

“ The shadow of that cloud. Eve, 
that seems so black, is the shadow of a 
sorrow. And the cause is the behavior 
of your mother, who will have none of 
me for a son-in-law, — who says that 
she will not come to your wedding — 
if I am there. And the drops are your 
tears, — or hers ; for I do not doubt 
that she has shed many tears over this 
same matter. But the cloud, although 


158 THE CLAMMER 

it is black, is not large and it is passed. 

Look, Eve ; you can see the sun.” 

And as I spoke, the sun was peep- 
ing under the western edge, and we 
saw his disk grow until we could look 
at him no longer. And we were come 
to the bank, where the pebbles shone 
red in the sun. For he was near his 
setting. 

“ Now,” said I, “I may have to wait 
some while for the rest of my inter- 
preting.” 

And we waited, watching in silence, 
for some minutes. And the cloud was 
gone from above us, into the east, and 
there were no more drops; but under 
the cloud it was raining hard. And 
there began to form a bow : first a 
patch of color here and a patch there ; 
then, gradually, the patches joined by 
fainter parts ; then those faint parts 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 159 
brightened into a perfect bow with its 
ends dipping into the sea, and with all 
its colors perfect. And as we gazed 
there formed, within the first, another 
bow, and yet a third — though one 
must look hard to find it. 

“ Indeed, Eve,” I said softly, “ it 
needs no interpreter.” 

And Eve smiled up at me. But the 
marvels were not yet done ; for there 
came broad sheaves of light that over- 
spread the bows, but did not hide 
them. And there, at the centre of the 
bows, was a tiny sail ; and the sail was 
brighter than aught else, and it was as 
if the sheaves of light had issued from 
it. And above were great masses of 
cloud, roll upon roll, and the sun, in 
his setting, spread them with all man- 
ner of saffron and scarlet and crim- 
son, and with all the delicate shades of 


i6o THE CLAMMER 

pink that are known to man — and 
with many that man, with all his skill, 
knows nothing of. But the shadows 
were blue or lilac or purple. And we 
gazed long, until the brightness began 
to fade. Then Eve sighed, saying no- 
thing. The sun had dropped behind 
the western hills; and the twilight 
faded swiftly, and the night was come. 

There is a restlessness that seizes 
upon men in certain case. I had felt 
it before, and had wandered the shores 
with my basket upon my arm and my 
hoe in my hand ; and I had digged 
here and there as the fancy took me. 
But the clams that I digged lay for- 
gotten upon the sands, to bury them- 
selves once more; while I, seated upon 
a barnacle -covered rock — or even 
standing — gazed and gazed and saw 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH i6i 
nothing of what was before me until 
the tide, lapping about my ankles, 
brought me to myself. And then, 
with a heart-breaking sigh, I would 
shoulder my hoe and again betake me 
to wandering the shores. Then Eve 
had been the cause, for I had not got 
her; but at least I might find my con- 
tent again at sunset, when I sat upon 
the bank, where the sod breaks off to 
the sand, with her beside me. Now, 
Eve was the cause, too, and my con- 
tent was fled from me; and though I 
might sit upon the bank, I sat alone, 
or with no one but Old Goodwin. And 
Old Goodwin was well enough, but he 
was not Eve. And I had no joy in the 
colors that the Great Painter spread 
so lavishly, but was ill-tempered and 
out of sorts, giving short answers to 
the remarks Old Goodwin made, and 


i 62 the CLAMMER 

never sitting still five minutes. And 
Old Goodwin but smiled his quiet 
smile and was very patient with me ; 
he knew well the cause of my sour 
temper. For Eve had betaken herself 
to the city, that she might the better 
make preparation for a certain Event. 
What Event that was, it is but a dull- 
ard that cannot guess ; and it w^as 
eighty days off, and then it was seventy. 
Eighty aeons — with Eve away. But I 
diverted myself by counting it in hours, 
then in minutes. It was a prodigious 
number of minutes — but I took what 
comfort I might in it. 

Then, one morning, I awoke at 
dawn, and, as I leaned from my win- 
dow, I saw the ground all white with 
frost. Then the east was grown all 
red, a narrow line of color changing 
to yellow and a faint green, and on a 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 163 
sudden the sun popped up. And then 
I got to thinking of that other dawn 
that Eve and I had seen, and content 
abode with me no longer. And I drew 
in my head and dressed in sullen haste 
and went down to breakfast. It was a 
good breakfast, but gall and worm- 
wood had been sweeter in my mouth 
if I could but find again that peace I 
sought; and, having done, I lighted 
my pipe and went forth. Sighing, I 
betook me — not to the shore — I had 
traveled that until I knew each peb- 
ble, and I had not found content ; but 
the woods were gorgeous — I betook 
me to the woods. Perchance content 
had taken refuge there. 

So all that day I wandered the wood, 
seeing the red of the dogwood and 
of the sumach, the reds and yellows of 
the maples, and the yellow leaves of 


THE CLAMMER 


164 

the birches showing against the white 
trunks ; and here and there a clump 
of pine, their dark green the darker 
for the color with which they were 
surrounded. But I found no beauty in 
any. Truly content was not there; or, 
if it were, I found it not. And I saw 
the seed-pods lifting on their dry stems, 
and the rotting logs and the dead 
leaves. I sat me down on a log, and 
from my pocket I drew forth a bundle 
of letters. They were Eve’s letters — 
and one for each day that she had been 
gone from me — and I read them all 
through again — for the hundredth 
time. When I was done the sun was 
on his downward journey, and I had 
found some measure of peace — and I 
bethought me that it was almost time 
for another letter. I seized my stick 
and hurried home. 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 165 
And with days like this one, or, 
later, with days when I sat moping 
before my fire, a book in my hand, 
my tale of days was coming to an end. 
I had great fireplaces, fitting for the 
chimneys, and I would gaze deep into 
the glowing heart of one of them, my 
book forgotten. I thanked Heaven 
that I was alone. For I was no less 
than a fool. I knew it well ; but I had 
no power to do otherwise — the veri- 
est lovesick boy might give me points 
— and then would come the post- 
man’s knock at the door — I knew that 
knock, you may be sure, and, as it 
went clattering through the house, — 
before its echoes had died away, — 
I was on my feet, and running. And I 
would open to him, and he, with a 
knowing smile, would hand me my 
letter, and make some foolish remark 


i66 THE CLAMMER 

about the weather. The weather, for- 
sooth! What knew I about the wea- 
ther.? It might be raining great guns, 
but for me the sun was shining — with 
that letter. And so I made him some 
answer — which was as like to be wise 
as foolish, for I doubt if he ever heard 
it clearly — I do not remember one of 
those answers — and I shut the door 
before he was well turned about, and I 
hurried back to my fire to read — but 
not my book. 

So at last my tale of days was done, 
and Eve was come home. And I awoke 
one morning to see a thin skimming 
of ice, crisp and crackling, spread over 
every shallow pool, and it was well 
into November. And my breakfast 
was ambrosia and nectar, being the 
same that had been gall and worm- 
wood before ; for Eve was come. And 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 167 
if I did not eat much, why, that love- 
sick boy that I have mentioned can 
tell you why it was. Then having 
done, I hurried off, and on every shal- 
low pool that was skimmed with ice I 
slid. And the ice rose up before my 
feet, and broke into a thousand pieces 
behind them ; but I did not wet so 
much as the sole of my shoe. And I 
hurried over to my clam beds ; for 
there, I thought, shall I find my lost 
content. 

The sun lay warm upon the bank, 
where the pebbles shone in the sun, 
but no Eve was there. And I paced 
to and fro, fuming with impatience, 
my head down upon my breast. For 
I found not content, having been cer- 
tain that I should find it that had been 
lost to me for a month and more. 
And as I paced the shore, to and fro, 


i68 THE CLAMMER 

there came a light touch upon my 
shoulder. I turned swiftly, and there 
was Eve, her eyes shining. And I — 
but I know not what I did — and, if I 
knew, I would not tell. 

“ Eve, Eve,” I cried, my voice shak- 
ing, “ you were gone so long ! ” 

And she only smiled up at me, the 
same smile that I had seen so often 
in my dreaming before my fire ; and I 
knew that I had found again that peace 
that had been so long lost. And what 
we did then is for my Eve and me to re- 
member ; but presently we found our- 
selves sitting upon the bank, and the 
ice was gone from the shore and the 
sun shone warm. 

“ And when shall I see,” I asked, 
“ your finery ? So long a visit should 
accomplish much.” 

She laughed, a merry laugh. “ Shall 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 169 
a bride not be properly fitted out ? ” 
she answered. And she said it softly, 
as if she were half ashamed ; and at 
that I kissed her, — I could not help 
it. Eve did not chide me for it. “ And 
you shall see all my finery — on Christ- 
mas day, or any day after.” 

Then I looked blank, I do not 
doubt, and she laughed again her 
merry laugh. For Christmas day is to 
be our wedding day. But I had Eve. 
That was enough — and she had pro- 
mised that she would not go away 
again. And we sat there, talking or 
silent, as the whim took us, until Eve 
was cold. 

So the days passed, and I was 
happy; and the leaves of the wood, 
that had been red and yellow and 
bronze, turned to a dull brown and 
fell, whirling ; but the oaks kept theirs. 


THE CLAMMER 


170 

and they rattled in each breeze. And 
the ice formed on the shore, great 
jagged cakes that covered my clam 
beds and the bank as well, so that we 
could not see the pebbles. And though 
the sunsets came earlier with each day 
that passed, it was become too cold 
to stay and see them. But the days of 
my waiting were grown less and less, 
till there was but one left. Still, there 
was no snow. And the morrow was 
Christmas day. 

I was prowling the shores that morn- 
ing, looking for Eve — as I ever did 
when I was not with her. And as I 
made my way carefully among the 
broken cakes of ice that the tide had 
left, I saw her coming down the path 
under the trees. I hurried — and 
looked again — and, behold, it was 
not Eve at all, but a lady clad in 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 171 
furs, and seeming proud and haughty. 
And she came near the bank, and so 
did I. 

“ I wished to speak with you,” she 
said. And I bowed low. But what 
she said next astonished me. 

“ You have robbed me of a daugh- 
ter,” she said again, her head high, — 
“ and you a fisherman ! ” 

Again I bowed low, saying nothing. 
What should I say to that ? Had she 
not been told ? I had ado not to laugh 
— but I did not, only bowed. And yet 
again she spoke. 

“ You have robbed me of a daugh- 
ter,” she repeated ; “ but I will come 
to your wedding — to my daughter’s 
wedding. I wished you to know that, 
so I came to tell you.” 

And I thought she would have wept, 
but she did not. For she was proud — 


172 THE CLAMMER 

and now I realized where my Eve 
had got her beauty. But I had found 
my tongue at last. 

“ I thank you, madam,” said I ; 
“and I am grateful for so little. I 
should be the more grateful for a 
little more — for Eve’s sake more 
than for my own — I am not your 
enemy, come to rob you, and if you 
would ” — 

“You have robbed me of a daugh- 
ter,” she broke in, and turned swiftly, 
and was gone up the path, her head 
high. But I could hear her weeping, 
though she tried to still it. And so I 
stood and watched her out of sight 
among the trees. 

I was telling Eve of it that after- 
noon. And the sun was low, though 
it was early. Eve listened in silence, 
watching the sun. 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 173 

“ Let us stay and say good-night to 
him,” she said, at last. 

“ With all my heart,” I answered. 
“ But let us walk, Eve. You will be 
the warmer.” 

And so she slipped her hand within 
my arm, and we walked to and fro 
along the shore, and we watched the 
sun. And, on a sudden, I looked at 
Eve, and her eyes were filled with 
tears. And I stopped short. 

“ What is it. Eve ? ” I asked. 

“ This is the last sunset, Adam,” she 
said softly, “that Eve Goodwin will 
ever see.” 

And the tears fell, and she was 
weeping. My heart stood still. 

“ And you are sorry. Eve } ” I said ; 
and I scarce knew my own voice. 
“ Would you draw back ? ” 

“No, oh, no, Adam,” she cried. 


174 the CLAMMER 

“Not that — I did not mean that. I 
do not regret — anything. But — let 
me cry a little.” 

“ Cry to your heart’s content,” I said, 
and smiled upon her; for my heart 
was going again — like a hammer. 

And so she wept and smiled at 
once, and then she wept again. And 
presently she was done, her heart 
eased. And the sun was sitting on 
the western hills. 

“ See,” I said. “He has stopped his 
southern journey, and has started back 
again.” 

And Eve said nothing, but she 
clasped my fingers close in hers, and 
we saw the sun spreading the still wa- 
ters with all manner of reds and pur- 
ples and shimmering greens. And as 
the last thin line of red vanished be- 
hind the hills, we saluted. And Eve 


A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 175 
murmured something, I knew not 
what. 

“ Good-night, Adam,” she said. 

“ Good-night, Eve — for the last 
time,” I whispered in return. 

And she fled up the path under the 
trees. 

For to-morrow will be Christmas 
day ; to-morrow the gates will open. 


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OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 
















OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 


M y friends like me well enough, as 
I have some reason to suppose; 
for although I am as peculiar as I ever 
was, they no longer remonstrate with 
me as they used to do. Perhaps they 
think that marriage has cured me of 
all my queerness — the summer is not 
yet come to prove the contrary. And 
I may be sure that, when it does 
come, I shall roam the shores, as I 
ever did, and hunt the elusive clam, 
as I ever did ; and dig, or gaze, as 
ever; and whether the one or the 
other, depends upon my fancy at the 
moment. But if I do as I was \Cont to 
do, I shall not roam the shores alone. 
Eve will roam with me; and there 


i8o THE CLAMMER 

will be two clam hoes in my shed, and 
two pairs of rubber boots reposing in 
the closet — when they are not in use, 
which is like to be seldom. And the 
one pair will be large and clumsy, 
and well stained with much wading 
through mud, while the other pair will 
be small and dainty — yes, even dainty, 
though they be rubber boots — and — 
well — not overmuch stained, though 
she wade even as I. Rubber boots — 
for clamming — cannot be kept spot- 
less, nor should they be, if they could. 
But there will be but the one bas- 
ket, to serve us both. I may be sure 
of this, I say; but they think, for- 
sooth, that I will have done with such 
foolishness — now that I am married. 
Wherefore, they have given over their 
remonstrating. 

But I note that I am more popular 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE i8i 
than I was. Some of them are always 
to be found at my house — not the 
same ones, but one or mayhap two 
will come in of an evening and sit 
before my fire. My fire goes not out, 
ever, nor does it roar; but always 
there are coals in plenty, so that the 
logs blaze gently and send out heat. 
I love it so, quiet and peaceful, for 
it makes my content the greater — a 
roaring fire makes me uneasy, even 
though I have confidence in my chim- 
ney. And my content would be enough 
in any case, with a friend sitting on 
the one side, and my wife sitting on 
the other; and I — but I sit in the 
deep shadow, to watch Eve the better. 
I love to watch her, and I would not 
be watched; for thus I can think my 
thoughts — and not be bothered with 
knowing that I am showing them too 


i 82 the CLAMMER 
plainly in my face. For I have not 
been married long — not long enough 
to show my feelings plainly and not to 
care what people think. 

And if I cleave to candles — as a 
clammer should — what matter.? Five 
of them give a pretty light, and a 
candle is long enough for an even- 
ing, even though it is winter. A short 
candle is as good as a clock — better, 
I think — for serving notice when to 
go. My friends have learned that, too ; 
and when the candles have become no 
more than stumps, they are wont to 
jump up hastily, say their good-nights 
and be gone. And as I cover the fire, 
to save coals for the morning where- 
with to kindle it afresh, I bethink me 
of my mighty wood-pile out by my 
shed — it is mighty even now, and the 
winter nearly gone — and I smile to 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 183 
myself, so that I am smiling yet as I 
rise from my task. Eve, seeing that, 
smiles, too, although she knows not 
what she is smiling at ; but her smile 
is ever ready — ready and waiting that 
it break forth, like the gentle sunshine 
— and she holds her hand to me. And 
I, having taken it, blow out the candles, 
and we mount the stairs together. 

Yes, my friends like me well 
enough, as I have some reason to 
suppose ; but my neighbors do not, as 
I have also some reason to suppose. 
And if I have no great love for them, 
the reason therefor is not far to seek. 
For they ever have seemed to think 
me one to be laughed at and made 
game of, — they knew no better, which 
I suppose I should have remembered, 
— well knowing that they might make 
their petty jests with impunity. And 


i 84 the CLAMMER 

sometimes I have wondered whether it 
were not better to answer fools accord- 
ing to their folly; but my witticisms 
they would not comprehend, and I 
have held back from that, although the 
provocation was often great enough. 
For they never let slip an opportu- 
nity — and there were a plenty — of 
letting me hear their loud laughter 
as I passed them by chance ; or even 
making a jest of me in my hearing. 
So that it has come to pass that I 
despise them; and I have withdrawn 
my foot from my neighbor’s house, 
now these many years, for weary of 
him I am already. But now I find 
these same neighbors are well like 
to become my visitors, which would 
plague me mightily. And I marveled 
at it. 

I was thinking upon this matter one 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 185 
evening, sitting by my fire. And, for 
a wonder, no friend was there, but 
Eve sat by the fire, too, a book in her 
hand and her sewing basket near. For 
Eve, not having been brought up to 
sew, — save embroidery, if that be 
called sewing, — has developed, sud- 
denly, a great desire for it, so that she 
always has her basket by her. But 
this evening, whereof I speak, she was 
not sewing, nor reading either, though 
she had a book in her hand ; but her 
hand lay in her lap for the most 
part, and now and then I caught her 
glancing at me; and when I did so 
catch her, she smiled at me. So I 
smiled, too, and at last I leaned toward 
her. 

“ Eve,” I said, “ why do you smile.? ” 

And, at that, she did but smile the 
more. “ Why should it be, Adam,” 


i86 THE CLAMMER 

she answered, “ except that I am 

happy ? ” 

And she leaned toward me, too, and 
our heads were very close, and it hap- 
pened that the book she had been 
holding slid from her lap and fell 
upon the floor; which should have 
grieved me, for it was one of my fa- 
vorites and bound in full calf, with 
hand tooling around the edges. But 
I scarcely noticed it. I reached forth 
my hand, and it met hers, which was 
reaching out for mine ; and I looked 
deep into her eyes — eyes swimming 
in tenderness — eyes like — No, I 
will not say it, for it has been said too 
often — though there is some excuse 
for the poets. And after some while 
I spoke. 

“ I am glad that you are happy,” I 
said ; “ and I am glad that there is no 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 187 
one here to-night — except only us 
two.” 

And Eve said nothing, but I knew 
that she was glad as well as I. 

“ There are times,” I continued, 
“when I could wish that my friends 
were — less my friends. It is pleasant 
to have them — I am glad that they 
like to come — but they might give us 
more than one evening a week to 
spend together.” 

Again Eve said nothing, but again 
she smiled ; and, smiling, it chanced 
that her eyes fell upon the book that 
was lying where it had fallen, face 
downward, upon the floor. 

“ Oh, the poor book ! ” she cried ; 
and stooped to pick it . up. And I 
stooped, too, so that we were near 
bumping our heads ; which somewhat 
delayed the rescue of the book. And, 


i88 THE CLAMMER 

when it was done, it befell that Eve’s 
hair was a bit rumpled and she had a 
pretty flush. 

“ Now, Adam,” said she, “you must 
tell me the matter that bothered you. 
For I know well enough that it was 
not your friends.” 

I looked at her in some amuse- 
ment. “ Why,” I answered, “ that is 
true. I marvel that you should have 
guessed it, although my marveling is 
not so great as it was, for women have 
a way of getting at the meat of a mat- 
ter without being at the trouble of 
cracking the shell. Oh, I am learning. 
And whom should I tell if not my 
wife } ” 

Eve laughed, a low laugh and sweet. 
“ I am to be the sharer of your sor- 
rows,” she said, “ hereafter. Remem- 
ber that, Adam. And now out with it.” 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 189 

And I did out with it. “ It is my 
neighbors that bother me,” I said. 
“ For I see plainly that they are well 
like to become my visitors ; and they 
like me not at all, nor ever did. I 
know no reason why they should have 
had a change of heart. Certainly it is 
none of my doing.” 

Eve did not answer this directly, 
but sat looking at me with a queer 
smile, so that I grew restive under it. 

“ Adam,” she said, “ do you believe 
that Solomon was a wise man ? ” 

“ I was brought up in that belief,” 
I observed, “but, notwithstanding, I 
have my doubts.” 

“ Oh, you have your doubts ? ” she 
asked. “ And why do you doubt his 
wisdom } ” 

“ For the best reason in the world,” 
I answered ; and I laughed as I spoke. 


igo THE CLAMMER 

“ And I hold that I am wiser than he 

— as I have said before. For he had 
seven hundred wives while I have one 

— but that one, Eve ” — 

But Eve had stopped my mouth. 
“ Now, Adam,” she said, “ I have 
missed some pretty speech of yours 

— and I love your pretty speeches — 
but you may make another for me 
when I am done. For I have a pur- 
pose. Did you know that ? ” 

“ Yes,” I said. “ I was sure that you 
had. You generally have a purpose — 
which you invariably accomplish. So 
ask, and I will answer ; and if my an- 
swers are not what are expected of me 
it will be but my misfortune. My in- 
tentions are of the best.” 

And, at that, she laughed. “ Well, 
then,” she said, “ was not Solomon a 
wise man ? ” 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 191 
“ He had that reputation,” I replied 
meekly; “ and I believe that he has 
it still — though it is a marvel to me 
that a dead man can have anything in 
this world. Yes, I think there can be 
no doubt that he was the wisest man 
in the world.” 

“ That will do — nicely, on the 
whole,” said Eve, having weighed my 
answer carefully, “although it leaves 
something to be desired. Now, — do 
you know what Solomon said about 
despising your neighbors ? ” 

She was looking down — and trem- 
bling at her boldness, I made no doubt 
— and so she did not see the look of 
grieved astonishment that came into 
my face. I was silent for some while, 
trying to recall just what Solomon did 
say about despising one’s neighbors. 
He said such a vast number of things. 


192 THE CLAMMER 

And, at last, Eve looked up, — and I 
saw that she had not been trembling 
at her boldness, for she was quite at 
her ease, and smiling at me. 

“ Eve,” I said, and I tried to be 
severe — but failed lamentably, for I 
smiled, too ; and there is some excuse 
for me, for how could any one, meet- 
ing that smile of hers, remember such 
a purpose ? “ Eve,” I said, “ I did not 
think it of you, that you would thus 
put your own husband to shame. For 
I do remember, and would you imply 
that I am void of wisdom ? I have no 
doubt that I, myself, could write pro- 
verbs well enough ” — 

But Eve interrupted me. “ Do you 
remember,” she asked, “ the Welsh 
giant ? ” 

Now what had the Welsh giant to 
do with it ? “I was about to say,” I 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 193 
continued, “ when you interrupted me, 
that I had no doubt that I, myself, 
could write proverbs, — quite passable 
proverbs, — if Solomon had not cov- 
ered the field completely, some thou- 
sands of years ago.” 

And I looked at Eve — but she was 
leaning back in her chair, looking at 
me and smiling still ; and she made 
me no answer. So I resumed. 

“ Out of my own mouth,” I said, 
“ have you convicted me. But there is 
yet more. Eve. Do you remember 
what it is ? ” 

And, on a sudden, she had left her 
chair and was on the arm of mine; 
and when she had made an end of 
rumpling my hair, she spoke. 

“ So you think, Adam,” she said, 
“ that you have proved yourself a man 
of understanding? Well, then, per- 


194 


THE CLAMMER 


haps you have. But you may have 
these same neighbors to visit with 
you, for I find much good in them. 
And now,” she added, with a blush 
that well became her, “ I must sew.” 

So again she sat her in her chair 
and she took her basket from the ta- 
ble ; and, with another glance at me 

— a glance half shy and wholly sweet 

— she drew forth, from some secret 
place, her sewing. And I sat watch- 
ing her, a tender smile upon my face 

— or what passed for that — Eve 
seemed to like it — and I thought 
my thoughts. They were pleasant 
thoughts. And Eve’s sewing — it was 
as if she were dressing a doll. As I 
watched her fingers moving skillfully, 
but with no haste, I marveled that she 
sewed so well ; and as I watched her 
face I marveled yet again. For her 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 195 
face was filled with love — a love that 
was not for me — filled with love and 
a great yearning. And all that love 
she seemed to sew into the little thing 
within her hands. But ever she had 
more, that each stitch was done with 
it and yet it grew with every stitch 
she took. And again Eve glanced 
up at me. I did but smile the more, 
until I grinned like any Cheshire 
cat. 

“ Eve,” I said, “ how do you know 
that they will fit ” — I considered, and 
saw nothing else for it — “how do you 
know that they will fit it ? ” 

But I was wrong. '■'It! ” she cried. 
"It! Adam, I take shame to myself 
that you would so call your first-born. 
Him^ sir. I am sure of it.” She put 
her sewing down, tenderly, and came 
to me. And her arms were around 


ige THE CLAMMER 

my neck and her face was hidden on 
my shoulder. “ Adam, Adam,” she whis- 
pered, “ my love for him is become so 
big, it hurts. How can I bear to wait 
all the long months until I see him — 
my son } How can I, Adam } ” 

And I — what could I do — or say ? 
What but comfort her as best I might ? 
And God knows I had the best will in 
the world to it, but the fashion of it 
was poor enough. 

“ In the fullness of time, Eve,” I 
whispered. “ In the fullness of time.” 

But she seemed to take some com- 
fort from my words — or mayhap the 
intent. So she lay as she was, but in 
some while she went back to her sew- 
ing again. She held it up, for me to 
see ; and I could but wonder that any 
piece of humanity should be such a 
morsel as to go into that garment. I 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 197 
said as much. But Eve only smiled 
and fell to sewing — her eyes very 
bright. 

As Eve sewed, I fell to musing on 
what she said about my neighbors. 
For she was right, as she was ever, 
and I had not seen the good that was 
in them — I had not been at the pains 
to see it, though I knew it was there ; 
and I had flattered myself that I had 
held my peace, and thereby had proved 
me a man of understanding. And I 
saw plainly — I might as well have 
stood upon the corner of the street 
and cried aloud unto Heaven, giving 
thanks that I was not as other men — 
until the bubble of my conceit had been 
pricked by Eve — and how gently! 
And presently the candles were burned 
low, and Eve, glancing at them, put 
her sewing by, and I knew that the 


igS THE CLAMMER 

time was come for me to cover the 

fire. 

That done, I took the hand that 
Eve held out and I blew out the can- 
dles, and I was moved to kiss the hand 
I held. 

“ For you have shown me. Eve,” I 
said, “ that I have been in the wrong. 
I will not withhold good from them 
to whom it is due. And I bless God 
for my wife.” 

For I felt very humble. And what 
answer I got to that I shall not tell; 
but it satisfied me, and we mounted 
the stairs together. 

I opened my window wide. There 
was the steady drip of melting snow, 
and the air held a hint of spring, but 
the stars were bright. And, gazing 
at them, I thought upon my son that 
was to be — or haply a daughter, it 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 199 
mattered not which — and I remem- 
bered the time when I first knew it. 
There had been the start of surprise, 
the impulse at rejoicing — then the 
dread of it — the fear for Eve. And 
she had seen them all. She hung upon 
my neck, weeping with the joy of it. 

“ Never fear for me, dear,” she cried, 
“never fear for me. But rejoice ex- 
ceedingly.” 

And so I did. And I gazed at a 
faint star — a little one, just showing 
to the naked eye — and as I gazed, 
I thought that I saw the eyes of my 
son looking at me with an infinite 
knowledge and compassion — and an 
infinite love. And as I gazed, behold, 
the eyes were the eyes of Eve. And 
if my son shall have the spirit that his 
mother has I shall be well content. 
So thinking, I turned from the win- 


200 THE CLAMMER 

dow and got me into bed ; and having 

drawn the covers close, I slept. 

One may guess that my friends did 
not desert me — so long as Eve was 
there ; and she was like to be there 
long. For if it had not been well with 
Eve, this story had never been written. 
There is grief enough in the world 
without my adding to the sum of it — 
and I doubt much if I should have 
the heart to write it down. So I kept 
my friends, and they came as they had 
been wont and sat them by my fire ; 
but I noted that they sat not still, 
but they were apt to rise and stroll 
about the room, and then they sat only 
to rise again. For the season got on 
towards spring ; and spring ever breeds 
a restless fire in the bones of man that 
grows and glows until he can get him 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 201 
out-of-doors again. Then he finds that 
peace that seemed like to escape him. 
I doubted if my friends knew what 
ailed them — even knew that they 
were restless ; but I knew well. And 
I advised with them and counseled 
that they turn their thoughts to gar- 
dening — and their restless bodies, too. 
For a man must needs do his digging 
for himself. What is a hired gardener 
but an abomination ? Let a man dig, 
if he would find peace. It has taken 
refuge in the earth ; and he that seeks 
shall find it. 

So I watched the snow melt on my 
garden and the ground soften; and it 
was come to the first week in April. 
But the ground was too wet for work- 
ing — I tried it, every day, with my 
hoe, and the earth clung to the hoe ; 
for it was but mud, and the frost went 


202 THE CLAMMER 

deep. But at last came a day when the 
earth clung no longer, but came away 
and left the hoe clean. And I knew 
that the spring had come. And, having 
made the test, I hurried to the house. 

“ Eve,” I shouted — I must needs 
shout, with the spring rioting in my 
veins. “ Eve, the spring is here ! ” 

And Eve laughed — and came out a 
door at my elbow. “ Why do you shout 
it so, Adam .? Have I not known it this 
last month? For the song sparrows 
came long since, and the bluebirds, 
and it is weeks since I saw the first 
robin. And now the birds are coming 
fast. Why shout it? As well come in 
and shout that the sun is shining.” 

“ Truly that would be well done, 
too,” I answered, “for the sun shines as 
it has not shone these many months. 
And a song sparrow does not make 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 203 
a spring, — he comes while it is yet 
winter, and so do the bluebirds. And I 
must dig, Eve, or I shall burst.” And, 
with that, I seized her about the waist 
and whirled her until we both were 
dizzy ; and, with a kiss, I released her, 
and she leaned against the door, 
laughing again. 

There she leaned until she had got 
back her breath. “ I suppose you will 
have me to see your digging,” she said 
then, “and there is no help for it.” 
But she smiled as she spoke, that I 
knew she was minded to it as well as 
I. “ Well, then, I will get my things on, 
and come.” 

So I had what I wanted, and I be- 
took me to my digging. And soon 
came Eve, in her coat ; for she did no 
digging, and the air held some faint 
chill, though the sun shone warm. 


204 the CLAMMER 
And, with our digging and our plan- 
ning, we were busy for some while ; 
but at last I straightened up, and there 
was Judson, leaning upon his fence 
and watching us. 

Now Judson lives next me, on the 
side where lies my garden, so that he 
may have a good view of it whenever 
he will ; but never before have I found 
him watching me. And although he 
and I have been next door neighbors 
these many years, never have I ex- 
changed a dozen words with him. Not 
that I had any fault to find with him 

— he is an old man now, spending 
long days in his garden, grubbing the 
weeds or pottering about — it is a 
brave weed that will sprout in his gar- 
den, but he can always hoe and dig 

— not that I could find any fault with 
Judson, but I classed him with those 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 205 
others, with whom I held no com- 
munion; and, after all, they, too — 
well, — I doubt if I care to learn their 
opinion of me. For Judson was born 
where he lives — and the others, like- 
wise, for the most part — while I have 
held my land a scant ten years; and 
he has held his peace, though he might 
well think me but an interloper. He 
has more wisdom than I, and it grows 
with his years. And again I was glad of 
my wife, that she had opened my eyes. 
And, thinking such thoughts as these, 
I hailed him standing there. 

“Good morning, Mr. Judson,” I 
called to him. “ It is a fine spring 
morning.” 

He did but smile and wave his hand 
for greeting. And I heard Eve’s voice 
beside me. “ Adam,” she said, and in 
her voice was wonder at what she had 


2o6 the CLAMMER 

noted, “ Mr. Judson is very deaf. Did 

you not know it ? ” 

I took shame to myself that I did not 
know it — much shame; for here was 
I that had been his neighbor so long, 
and the thing about him that was most 
obvious I had not observed. I marveled 
somewhat that Eve should know it. 

“ Eve,” I answered, “ I am ashamed. 
Come, let us talk with him.” 

“ With all my heart,” she said ; “ for 
he is a good man, Adam, and a wise, 
and — and ” — 

I laughed. “ And it will do me good,” 
I finished for her. “ Why hesitate. Eve.? 
For you are beyond me in wisdom, and 
so is Judson, I do not doubt. Why 
hesitate ? ” 

And she, uncertain whether to laugh 
or not, looked up at me to see. For 
my conversion was but recent, and I 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 207 
was yet somewhat sore with it. But, 
having looked at me, she smiled and 
slipped her hand within my arm — 
which soothed my ruffled temper to 
a marvel, and I smiled down at her. 
And so we were come to the wall — 
the fence was a stone fence — where 
stood Judson, smiling, too. 

Once there, we talked long of things 
appropriate to the season ; of what to 
plant, and when, and peas and beans 
and what not ; and he wondered that 
I had no rhubarb and no asparagus — 
grass, he called it. So I asked him 
over the wall — for the first time in 
ten years — and he came, most will- 
ing; and we wandered about my gar- 
den, discussing, and finally we sat us 
down on a bench, that was before my 
shed, in the sun. Then Eve, noting 
the pipe that he held in his worn fin- 


2o8 the CLAMMER 
gers, bade him fill and light it. Which 
he did, with some apology, but to his 
great content. And there we sat, bask- 
ing, until, at last, Judson arose, excus- 
ing himself for staying so long. Eve 
asked him to come again, often. 

“ And,” she said, “ I would like it 
much if I might run in to see Mrs. 
Judson.” 

The old man was pleased at that. 
“ So do,” he said ; “ so do. She ’ll be 
glad to see ye.” 

And we watched his bent figure 
crossing the garden ; and, having got 
over the wall again, and on his own 
side, he paused a moment to wave his 
hand and to smile at us as we still sat. 
I felt a glow at my heart that warmed 
it mightily, even as the sun warmed 
my body. It was worth while being 
friends with Judson — and that I might 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 209 
have been ten years ago had I but 
known. But a fool in his folly — 

“ Eve,” I said, “ again I have to thank 
you. But you should have appeared to 
me ten years ago. Where were you. 
Eve .? ” 

“ I was but a child, Adam,” she re- 
plied, “ or scarcely more.” And as she 
spoke she smiled at me and sat closer; 
for she well knew that I was sore hurt 
in my self-esteem. She well knew, too, 
how to heal the hurt so that it leave 
but a scar — for she would not have 
me forget again. 

And presently she drew a letter 
from the pocket of her coat. “ See,” 
she said. “ I have a letter from my 
father. They wdll come down soon — 
in two weeks. It is a full month be- 
fore their time.” 

I drew the letter forth. It was char- 


210 THE CLAMMER 

acteristic of Old Goodwin — only two 
lines, in his rapid writing, telling of 
their coming, and sending love to her 
and Adam. Eve had had a letter like 
this one — about as long — twice a 
month; he had no time for writing 
more. I had seen them all ; and I had 
noted what was missing — missing 
from them all. 

“No word from your mother. Eve ? ” 

She glanced up at me. “ Not yet,” 
she said. “ But I have no fear, Adam. 
She is proud and she is stubborn — 
but they come a month early. No, I 
have no fear.” 

And I looked out to my pine, where 
the hole was scooped in the ground 
and the seat was builded against the 
tree. The hole was filled full with 
dried leaves and other rubbish, and 
the seat needed some repairing. 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 211 


“ It behooves me to see to my oven,” 
I said, “ for as it seems to me, we are 
like to have a clambake soon. And I 
have a mind to ask Judson — and his 
wife.” Eve beamed at me for that. 
“ And I may have to get some new 
stones.” 

Eve slipped her hand within my 
arm. “ Do the stones grow cold, 
Adam ? ” she asked, softly. 

And that made me to remember. I 
stooped and kissed her. “Truly,” I 
answered, “ the stones have been pass- 
ing cold and now they grow warm 
again. But it does not matter about 
the stones, for we have kept the fire 
warm upon the hearth — and in our 
hearts. Eve. And it behooves me to 
look at my clam beds, too. We may 
watch the sunset if you will — watch 
it from the bank.” 


212 THE CLAMMER 

She rejoiced at that. “ With all my 
heart, Adam.” 

So it befell that we wended, that 
afternoon, over to our clam beds, along 
the shore where the water lapped ever. 
And, as it chanced, the tide was low 
and would yet be lower ; for it was a 
spring tide. And we walked hand in 
hand — for there was nobody about — 
and what if there were ? Shall a man 
not hold his wife’s hand, in going 
along the shore .f* And shall he not 
kiss her if he will — and if she will ? 
Though in such matters we should, 
no doubt, bow to convention. And, as 
we went, the Great Painter spread his 
colors as he was wont to do, and the 
still waters were covered with all man- 
ner of reds and purples. We saw our 
flats just awash and now and then 
there broke upon them a wave that 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 213 
ran across in ripples of color, and left 
the wet sand shining in a coat of shim- 
mering green. For, though the water 
was calm, the waves yet broke upon 
the sands. It was a day of promise 
now well nigh come to an end but yet 
it held a promise of other days. And 
such a day maketh the soul of a man 
to rejoice — if he be in truth a man, 
and not a mere beast of burden — it 
maketh the soul of him to rejoice 
within him and his heart to sing ; and 
of such as rejoice not in such a day, 
there is little hope. 

And Eve and I came to the bank, 
where the pebbles shone in the sun — 
save some few that had been washed 
out in the storms of winter. Eve cried 
out at that, and set herself to find 
others, that she make the names whole 
again. And I looked up at our path, 


214 the clammer 
that still showed bravely — with little 
piles of snow in the deeply shaded 
spots, the remnants of great drifts — 
but they were going fast. And the 
grass showed green on the slope — 
the tender green of spring. Seeing 
all this, I sighed and turned me from 
it to our clam beds. 

They were well uncovered by this, 
and I took my hoe and pottered about 
and slopped here and there, digging 
where I would. And now and again I 
made me straight — for some months 
past I had not bent my back so stead- 
ily — and gazed at the changing colors 
or at the old sun, which was drawing 
near to the western hills ; then I bent 
my back again. And the clams that I 
found I did but restore with care, to 
bury themselves once more — we had 
no basket, not wanting clams as yet — - 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 215 
and I found many. They seemed good 
thriving clams, big and lusty, and none 
the worse for the winter. 

At last I was done with my digging 
and I straightened up and looked for 
Eve ; and there she was, beyond me, 
in the water, with her skirts tucked 
up, and she was paddling like any 
schoolgirl. And the sun shone through 
the wisps of hair — they straggled, 
ever, those wisps, and sadly bothered 
her with their wanderings — the sun 
shone through the wandering locks 
and made an aureole about her head. 
But now she minded them not. And 
so I gazed long at her, and I saw the 
colors that she stirred with her pad- 
dling, and I saw her standing in their 
midst. At last she looked up at me. 

“ Oh, Adam,” she cried, “ I am hav- 
ing such a beautiful time. Stop your 


2i6 the CLAMMER 
digging and come out here with me 

— and paddle. It is great fun. See, I 
can almost catch that streak of gold 1 
Oh, now it is gone.” 

“ Truly, Eve,” I said, “ I am amazed 
at you. But I will come — and pad- 
dle — although that is what I never 
thought that I should come to ; for I 
am done with my digging. And soon 
we must go in, for the sun is almost 
set. It is not yet summer.” 

Then Eve laughed, and I went and 
stood beside her, and we paddled nobly 

— until I was laughing, too. And the 
sun set — he had already passed the 
tree that was like a spire — I saw it 
for a moment against his southern edge 
as he coasted down the slope — and 
we bade him good-night together, as 
we had been wont to do. Eve turned 
to me. 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 217 

“ I am cold, Adam,” she said. “ I 
confess it.” 

Indeed, that water was passing cold, 
for there were in it all the melting 
snows of winter. And so we raced 
along the shore in our rubber boots 

— Eve’s are less of a burden than 
mine, so that I was beaten in the race 

— and climbed the steep path ; and in 
the house our fire burned upon the 
hearth. 

As I sat there before the fire, mus- 
ing upon many things — with my back 
feeling tired and comfortable among 
the cushions — I heard a robin calling 
sleepily from my pine. It sent a glow 
through me. Verily, Spring is here. 

So the season grew and filled me 
with joy. And as evening came, I sat 
before my fire, but I withdrew some- 


2i8 


THE CLAMMER 


what from its heat ; and I had no in- 
terest in the book that I took up, but 
I must needs lay it down in my lap. 
For, first, I found myself reading but 
words and getting no sense from them, 
that I knew not whether I had read a 
passage or no. And I would struggle 
awake and read a line, or mayhap two, 
and make sense of it; and then I read 
the same line again, as like as not, and 
knew not where I was nor what my 
author would be at. Then I would let 
the book fall into my lap and care not 
for my author nor for aught else, and 
suck at my pipe — it was as like to be 
out as burning — and doze and dream. 
And Eve would glance at me and 
smile and go on with the making of 
doll’s clothes. For I had been out all 
day in my garden — with Judson giv- 
ing me counsel, if I asked it — never, 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 219 
if I did not; and it was borne in upon 
me that he that withholdeth advice, if 
it be unasked, is a wise man — I had 
been all day in the garden, hoeing 
and digging and planting. When Jud- 
son did his planting was a mystery — 
probably about daylight; but he had 
got in the way of coming over the 
wall, and I would no sooner be at 
work than there would appear Judson 
at the wall, waving his hand in greet- 
ing. I think I shall make a gate there 
if he does not object. It is hard for an 
old man to climb walls. 

And I wondered at the apparent de- 
fection of my friends ; for they came 
seldom, so that Eve made some pro- 
gress with her doll’s wardrobe. I won- 
dered, I say, until I reflected upon the 
advice I had given them, myself. No 
doubt they were busy as well as I ; and 


220 THE CLAMMER 

if they made gardens they went to bed 

early. 

So it was come to be the first of 
May and all my planting was done ex- 
cept my corn. The birds had become 
noisy — they sang as though they 
would split their throats; and, as I 
planted, I heard the shrill whistle of 
the meadow-larks — but I could not 
stop to enjoy it. Only at evening I 
sat me on my seat under the great 
pine, with Eve beside me, and drank 
my fill of music. And the leaves were 
coming out upon the trees. 

I marveled somewhat that Eve had 
had no word more from her father; 
but I must plant my corn. And my 
first planting of corn was done ; and 
as I straightened up from it, sighing 
with weariness, I heard a low chuckling 
laugh. I turned quickly, and behold, 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 221 
there was Old Goodwin watching me ; 
and beside him Eve. He was still 
laughing. 

I hurried across my garden, the 
earth sticking to my boots ; and made 
some apologies for my hands. The 
hands of a delver in the earth are not 
fit for contact with the Rich. 

But what did Old Goodwin care for 
that? “It is clean dirt, Adam,” said 
he, “and honest. The hands that I 
have to take every day, they are — 
well — it turns me nearly sick at times, 
to take them — though they are white 
enough, and soft.” He looked out over 
my garden, that showed already un- 
broken rows of green, where the early 
peas had come through the earth. “ So 
your planting is all done ? ” he asked. 
“ I am sorry, for I had hoped to have 
a hand in it.” 


222 THE CLAMMER 

“ And so you may,” I answered, “ if 
you will. There are yet some plant- 
ings of corn to be put in — but nothing 
for two weeks.” I hesitated, and blun- 
dered on. “ And Mrs. Goodwin — she 
is well.?” 

“ Quite well,” he said, and smiled as 
he spoke — and so did Eve. “Yes, she 
is quite well. She came dowm too. You 
may get a glimpse of her now and then, 
I think, about the grounds, for she is 
restless this spring, and out more than 
she has been used to be. No doubt,” 
he added, “ it is the weather.” 

“ No doubt,” I said ; but I knew not 
how to take it, and I glanced at Eve to 
see. “Yes, no doubt it is the weather.” 

Then I went in, for I would change 
my boots. And Old Goodwin wan- 
dered, that meanwhile, about my place 
with Eve beside him. When I came 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 223 
again I found him on the seat under 
the pine; and he was gazing at the 
stones, and then off over my clam 
beds, where the water danced in the 
sun and the little waves broke upon 
the sands. But Eve was not there. I 
marveled somewhat at it. 

“She is gone to see her mother,” 
he said, answering the thought un- 
spoken. “ She will be back presently. 
And how are the clams, Adam ? ” 

I laughed, it was so exactly what I 
expected of him. “ Pretty well, I thank 
you,” I replied ; “ or they were, two 
weeks ago. I have not seen them 
lately, for I have been busy. You may 
dig whenever you will. They thrive, I 
think.” 

He smiled again — his thanks. “And 
the stones — you have put some fresh 
ones in, I see — they are all ready .? ” 


224 the clammer 
“ They are all ready,” I answered, 
“ and the weed lies in heaps along the 
shore. But I find that my appetite for 
baked clams is not yet ripe ” — 

But he interrupted. “Ah, Adam,” 
he said, “ but you have this with you 
all the year.” He waved his hand about. 
“ That is much to be thankful for. But 
I — the memory of those baked clams 
is all that has carried me over many a 
hard place. For I realize — somethnes 

— that I am an old man ; but when I 
am here ” — 

“You are not,” I finished for him. 
“ And that is reason enough for stay- 
ing. You have a roof over your head 

— such as it is — and a crust of bread 

— with a chop or two when there 
is need. No man, however poor, can 
ask more — and no man, however rich, 
can get more. So I foretell ” — 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 225 

Old Goodwin was roaring with 
laughter. “Yes,” he said, as soon as 
he could speak, “ I have a roof over 
my head — such as it is — and the 
tiles upon it may last through a. win- 
ter ; and I shall have — no doubt — a 
crust of bread — with a chop or. two 
when there is need. And so you would 
have me give up my house in town. 
Well, well, there is something to be 
said for it. We shall see. We shall 
see.” 

“Your house in town would be but 
a burden,” I said then. “ No man can 
live in two houses — two at once — 
having but one body. And you might 
well give up — it is time to retire, 
having enough of means. And these 
fields and this water and the woods 
are a never-ending delight. You need 
not fear your nerves. For look at me. 


226 THE CLAMMER 

Am I nervous? And I have retired 
— retired these many years — retired 
before my career was well begun. I 
find amusement — and I am like to 
livelong. And you should know Jud- 
son — you must know him. He has 
lived long and will yet live some while. 
He should have been here this morn- 
ing.” 

Old Goodwin looked at me, ques- 
tioning. “ Your neighbor ? ” he asked. 
“ I should like it much. But I thought 
you did not care for neighbors, 
Adam.” 

I was ashamed. “ I did not,” I an- 
swered, “but Eve has shown me — I 
was wrong.” Old Goodwin smiled at 
that, his quiet smile of peace. And I 
went on. “But you” — 

“I will consider,” he said; and I 
remembered me of a time when Eve 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 227 
had said those very words. But she 
said more. There was “good fisher- 
man ” if I remembered me aright. 
“ I will consider the matter,” said Old 
Goodwin. “And I must consult” — 

“ Ah ! ” I cried, “ I had forgot.” 
And I smiled, more broadly than I 
meant to ; but it mattered not, for Old 
Goodwin was smiling too. 

“ There comes Eve,” he said. And 
indeed, I knew it well. Was I not look- 
ing for her every minute that she was 
gone from me ? 

And that evening we sat before my 
fire, as we were wont to do. Eve and I ; 
but beside us sat Old Goodwin. It oc- 
curred to me to think that Mrs. Good- 
win was likely to be lonely — if she 
depended at all upon her husband for 
company — and if he continued as he 
had begun. If it were Eve and I, 


228 THE CLAMMER 

there would be a compromise — or a 
surrender — in short order. But, I re- 
flected, all married people are not as 
Eve and I ; and we have been mar- 
ried but a few months — although it 
will be the same when the months are 
become years, I do believe. And Eve 
and her mother are two very differ- 

f 

ent persons. So, as we sat. Eve sewed 
upon her doll’s dresses, unabashed; 
and Old Goodwin, if he noted it, and 
saw upon what her fingers were busy, 
gave no sign of his surprise — it is not 
easy to surprise him — but he seemed 
to find pleasure in the sight. And, 
indeed, it was a pleasant sight to see 
Eve sewing there — pleasant for a 
prospective father and for a prospec- 
tive grandfather it was as pleasant, as 
I judged. I doubt me much that Mrs. 
Goodwin sewed, ever, of an evening; 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 229 
or ever had sewed, even when sewing 
was to be done for Eve’s coming. The 
clothes that she had made for her 
baby were of the finest and the softest 
and the richest no doubt — but she 
had them made; and can even the 
finest and the softest and the richest, 
made by the hand of another, mean 
as much as these, with love sewed 
under every stitch of them ? I do not 
think so. And the one thing she could 
not evade if she would; — but she had 
but the one child, and I think that 
was a sorrow to Old Goodwin. So 
we sat, and talked little or not at all ; 
and the candles burned low, that they 
were but stumps. Noting that. Old 
Goodwin took his leave. And the 
evening and the morning were the 
first day. 

Then followed other days; and. 


230 THE CLAMMER 

first of all, Old Goodwin must betake 
him to the digging of clams and I 
must help him at it. And, having 
digged many clams, we must needs 
have a clambake, for I would not de- 
stroy good clams to no purpose ; but 
it was a sorry clambake, lacking the 
corn and the sweet potatoes and the 
lobster. And, though I sacrificed a 
chicken to it, the sacrifice went to 
my heart, for early in May is no time 
to kill chickens. I asked Judson to 
our clambake, and though he came, 
his appetite for clams was no more 
ripe than mine. But Judson and Old 
Goodwin met and enjoyed the meeting 
mightily; and sat upon their boxes 
and talked until I thought they would 
never have done. So Eve and I left 
them there, sitting upon their boxes. 
And presently they rose and wan- 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 231 
dered over into Judson’s place and I 
saw Old Goodwin no more that day. 

And, again, we went to the woods, 
and saw them breaking forth into leaf. 
For the leafing of the woods is a little 
later than the leafing of a tree which 
grows in the open. And I saw the 
seed pods lifting on their dry stems, 
but they were few and the pods were 
empty ; for the stems were brittle, that 
the weight of snow had broken them 
down, for the most part, and the birds 
had gleaned the seeds. But the dead 
leaves were fading into mould, out of 
which peeped a seedling, here and 
there ; and the rotting logs were fast 
being covered with a coat of green — 
moss and the creeping vines were do- 
ing that. And I saw the birches, their 
tiny leaves like so many little green 
spangles — or so they looked until I 


232 THE CLAMMER 

came near. And the pines, too, had 
burst the buds, that every tip was a 
lighter green, with clusters of little 
needles that, here and there, still bore 
their caps of brown ; but the oak buds 
were just bursting. 

I spoke to Old Goodwin. “ There 
is much for a man to see here,” said I, 
“when he is retired — even in win- 
ter.” 

He laughed and made me no reply. 

And, yet again, there grow before 
my house — but within my hedge — 
two hawthorn trees. They are very 
mountains of trees, for hawthorns, and 
their tops are above the eaves of my 
house. I would not miss the time of 
blossoming of those two trees for 
aught; and one of them has white 
blossoms and the other has pink. And 
the time came for them to blossom, 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 233 
and so they did, for they are well be- 
haved trees as any could wish ; and 
on the one side of my front walk was 
a mass of white blossoms, and on the 
other side a mass of pink. Solid banks 
of blossoms they were, with a green 
leaf showing through here and there, 
even to the tips of the trees. I found 
Old Goodwin viewing them from the 
road. And it was come to be the last 
week in May. And, though I found 
him gazing at my trees — I have a 
pride in them, which may be par- 
doned — I said not much. 

“ There is much for a man to see, 
here and there,” I said, “ when he is 
retired.” 

And once more he laughed, but 
he made me a reply to this. “ True 
enough, Adam,” he answered, “ true 
enough. There is enough for a man 


234 the CLAMMER 

to see — and I think there is enough 

for him to do.” 

So June was come. It was in June 
that my appetite for clams was become 
ripe ; and we digged in my clam beds 
more than ever, and put some heart 
into the digging. It was Old Good- 
win and I that did the digging, for the 
most part — he loved it — while Eve 
sat on the bank and watched us. Some- 
times she would dig, but more often 
she did but watch, cheering us, the 
while, with observations; and, now 
and then, I would go and sit beside 
her and leave Old Goodwin. But he 
did not mind — did not appear to 
notice. Every evening, after supper, 
we came. Eve and I, to the bank. And 
Old Goodwin joined us there and we 
stayed until the sun was set and we 
had said our good-nights to him. And 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 235 
it befell, on an evening that was thick 
with fog — it is apt to be a thick fog 
toward the last of June — out at sea 
the fog lies all day, rolling in over the 
land by the end of the afternoon — it 
befell, on this evening, that I had been 
watching the fog. It sent its skir- 
mishers ahead and covered the shore, 
only to uncover it ; for the skirmisher 
must move fast — and it is not large, 
being but a skirmisher. And then 
would come another and hide another 
piece of shore — haply my point with 
the pine upon it ; and I could see the 
top of the pine sticking up out of it, 
like a sentinel. But always the main 
body of the fog followed fast after, 
dark and dim and gray. And as it 
enveloped us at last, something — I 
know not what it was — made me turn 
about ; and there, in the path, up un- 


236 THE CLAMMER 

der the trees, stood Eve’s mother. No 
doubt she thought she was safe there 
and would not be seen. And I saw 
there, for a moment, a mighty pride 
that struggled for its life, and grief and 
longing that were yet mightier. Ghost- 
like I saw it — but I saw it. Then it, 
too, was blotted out. I thought that I 
heard a faint cry in the fog. 

And Eve turned toward me, star- 
tled. “What was that, Adam ? ” she 
asked. “ I thought I heard some one 
cry out.” 

“ In a fog. Eve,” I answered, “ one 
hears many strange sounds.” Old 
Goodwin turned and smiled at me, a 
smile of comprehension. 

So June came to an end, and July 
was come. And, now and then, I came 
again upon Mrs. Goodwin at our bank, 
and twice I found her on the shore 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 237 
near the steep path that led up to my 
pine. But each time, she swiftly turned, 
and fled so fast that I should have 
some trouble in catching her, save in 
a foot-race. And that, I thought, 
seemed to lack dignity. Racing along 
the beach after Mrs. Goodwin, as if she 
had been some trespasser ! I laughed 
— which was the wrong thing to do. 
For she but went the faster as she 
heard my laugh — was well nigh run- 
ning. Poor lady! To be laughed at 
by her son-in-law! But I was not 
laughing at her. I saw her shoulders 
shake as she were sobbing, and she 
put her hands up quickly to her eyes. 

The terns were come, long since. 
And, one morning, I was watching 
them, lazily, from my bank. I was 
alone, that morning, lying stretched 
out on the sand, my head against the 


THE CLAMMER 


238 

bank ; and I saw the terns, in regular 
procession, flying swiftly down the 
wind, along the shore, and beating 
slowly up against it. Now and then a 
tern would stop, and hover for an in- 
stant; then again take up his slow 
beating, his beak pointing to the water 
and moving restlessly from side to side. 
Or, if he dove, it was too far for me 
to see whether his strike succeeded ; 
for the fish that they catch are very 
small and hard to see. But over my 
clam beds — just before me — was a 
favored spot. Here, each tern hovered 
for some while, and dove ; dove once 
or twice or thrice, it might be, — until 
he had succeeded in his fishing — then 
began, once more, his beat to windward. 
For their fishing was successful, here; 
and, with a rapid flutter of the wings, 
they gobbled their victim down, whole 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 239 
— and, I suppose, alive. Poor little 
fish ! Alive in a living tomb ! And, as 
I thought these thoughts, I heard a 
sound behind me, on the bank. I 
raised my head — and there was Mrs. 
Goodwin. She was leaning against a 
tree — Eve’s tree — and she was gaz- 
ing at the terns, too, but mournfully. 
And, with all her gazing, I doubt 
whether she saw aught of the sight 
that was before her eyes. 

Slowly, I got upon my feet, for I 
would not startle her. But she was 
startled none the less. She showed it 
in her eyes as they met mine. 

“ Mrs. Goodwin,” I said softly, “ Mrs. 
Goodwin ” — 

What more I would have said I do 
not know, for she broke in upon my 
speech. 

“You!” she said. “You!” And she 


240 THE CLAMMER 

said no more, but rose quickly; and 
gathered her skirts about her and fled 
up the path and was gone from me. 

I hesitated for a moment, gazing 
after her ; then I sat me down again. 
And I fell to musing and I watched 
the terns. They had scattered, with 
screams of anger, as I rose, but were, 
by this, once more busied with their 
fishing. What could I do ? I doubted 
not that I had done the wrong thing, 
rising up before her — but, it seemed, 
I had a talent for the wrong thing — 
else aught that I might do would seem 
wrong — in her eyes. Eve went to see 
her every day, but I — I sighed, and 
put the matter from me. I had done 
my best — and would do my best, 
whatever befell. And I saw the terns 
at their fishing, and I bethought me 
that I was hungry, for it must be din- 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 241 
ner time. I glanced up at the sun — I 
carry no watch — what should a clam- 
mer do with a watch ? And I saw that 
he had passed the noon-point a half- 
hour since, and something more. It 
should be nearly one o’clock. So I 
took my way homeward, along the 
shore. 

So the summer passed. And we — 
Old Goodwin and Eve and I, with 
some one of my friends or of my 
neighbors, as it chanced — scarce gave 
the stones time to cool before we had 
them hot again. I had some fear that 
my clam beds would give out. Mrs. 
Goodwin I saw as I had seen her ; on 
the shore or on the bank — but always 
at a distance — and she fled, ever, at 
the sight of me. So I took no notice 
of her; and that seemed to be the 
wrong thing, too. It did not matter 


THE CLAMMER 


242 

what I did. And the summer was 
come to an end — a happy summer 
for me, and for Old Goodwin, too, I 
think — and I had had my fill of clams. 
It was October ; and in my house 
was a nurse, white-capped and white 
aproned — it gave me the horrors, 
making my house seem a hospital — 
and she was waiting. 

Paternity has its responsibilities, so 
I am told by all who have the good 
fortune to be fathers — and from those 
who have not, I hear no less of it — 
more, perhaps. But, though I squared 
my shoulders, the load is light as yet, 
so that they bear it passing well. For 
who could feel the load heavy, for a 
mite that lies by his mother, as yet, 
and turns to the world but a red and 
wrinkled face, serious and thoughtful 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 243 
and unsmiling? For he has not yet 
smiled; and I doubt whether I am 
right in calling his face thoughtful. 
He is bent upon two things ; and to 
those two things he directs all his at- 
tention, with a concentration that is 
commendable. And no sooner is his 
hunger satisfied then he composes 
him to sleep, graciously permitting 
Eve to hold his little red fist — if it is 
quite comfortable for himself. He re- 
gards me with a grave contemplation, 
on occasion, as if I were some un- 
known animal — which, of course, I 
am — no doubt he would look upon a 
hippopotamus or upon a bear with as 
little fear and as much affection — and, 
on occasion, he gives way to his feel- 
ings and laments, loudly. Then I dis- 
appear, and he stops crying, instantly. 
And I — I have not ventured to touch 


244 the CLAMMER 

him yet — I regard him with an awe 
which grows as I regard him. For 
here is he — my son — that was not ; 
and within these few days there has 
been born a new soul. It is the one 
great mystery, and I marvel ; but a 
mystery I am content to leave it. 

I remember well enough — it is not 
so long ago that I should forget it — 
I remember well that night — I had 
waited since midnight — and the 
morning that followed. I could not eat 
and I but paced to and fro, still wait- 
ing. And at last came the nurse, smil- 
ing, and said that I could soon go in 
to Eve. 

So presently, after some further 
waiting, I went in. And there lay 
Eve, very white but very happy ; and 
she smiled to see me come. And, hav- 
ing received my greeting, she turned 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 245 
back the covers and showed me my 
son. Only for an instant I saw him, 
then he was covered again. I was im- 
pelled to be respectful. But I must 
go, for Eve would rest her. Again I 
kissed her, and again she smiled. 

“ I am so happy, Adam,” she said. 

And I went down the stairs, and I 
nearly forgot my breakfast, in my joy. 
But, having eaten hastily, I went out, 
my heart glad within me. I took a turn 
up and down the yard, and paused 
under the pine to look along the shore. 
There was Mrs. Goodwin, and she 
was almost at the path. I waved my 
hat to her. 

“ You have a grandson, Mrs. Good- 
win,” I called to her, “ and Eve is do- 
ing well.” 

I know not what she did then — I 
did not care what she did ; for I was 


246 THE CLAMMER 

still waving my hat. Soon I should 
be shouting aloud. That would not 
do, for Eve ; and I hurried out at my 
gate and almost ran Old Goodwin 
down. 

“ You have a grandson,” I cried, for 
the second time ; “ and Eve is doing 
well.” 

And he made no reply, but smiled 
and smiled ; and I shook him by the 
hand until he made a face and took 
his hand away and looked at it. And 
I did but laugh and push by him. 

“ Go in,” I said, “ go in. Eve is 
sleeping, and I — I must walk.” 

So he went in, and I went on, 
down the road. At the next corner 
I met Burdon ; and, though I had not 
spoken to him for years — I have 
forgot what was the cause of it — I 
rushed up and took him by the hand. 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 247 
He seemed astonished, as well he 
might. 

“ Congratulate me,” I cried ; “ for I 
have a son.” 

At that he grinned. “ Mother doing 
well ? ” he asked. “ I am glad — very- 
glad.” And he shook my hand with 
heartiness. I left him, looking after 
me, and grinning still. 

But I went on swiftly, until the 
houses were all behind me, and be- 
fore me were the woods and the ever- 
lasting hills. Yet a little while I 
waited — until the woods had shut me 
in — then I could wait no longer. I 
waved my hands and shouted to the 
echoing woods. 

“ Why hop ye so,” I cried, “ ye high 
hills.?” And the hills sent me back 
my question again. And — well, I am 
glad that there was no one there to 


248 THE CLAMMER 

see what I did — they would surely 
have thought me gone out of my wits. 
And when I was, in a measure, quieted, 
I turned me about and went soberly 
back again; though I was ready enough 
to laugh if there had been any to laugh 
with me. 

And now my son has grown apace, 
and no longer shows to the world a red 
and wrinkled face, but one that is fair, 
with some pink color in his cheeks, 
where it should be. And his hair — he 
has a quantity of hair, which, as I un- 
derstand, is not the habit of new-born 
infants — his hair is not black, as it was 
at first, but shows yellow at the ends. 
Indeed, I marveled somewhat at the 
blackness of his hair, for my hair is 
not black, and certainly Eve’s is not. 
But, when I mentioned the matter, 
the nurse did but smile at my igno- 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 249 
ranee and say that it would be light 
enough in time. And my son has 
smiled at last — he does little else now, 

— save when he is laughing. And I 

— I am become his slave, being no 
longer a strange animal, and when he 
wills I bend my head and let him 
twine his fingers in my hair and pull. 
He pulls well, and laughs the while, 
and crows mightily with the joy 
of it. 

And, now, though it is come to the 
last of November, the fall is kind to 
us, and Eve walks beside the coach as 
the nurse wheels it. Where they go 
when I am not with them I do not 
know — but I suspect. For Mrs. Good- 
win sent, every day, a maid to get the 
news of Eve. She would not come 
herself, though she was near it twenty 
times, and had well-nigh set her foot 


250 THE CLAMMER 

to the steep path; but, always, her 
stubborn pride prevented. But Old 
Goodwin is his grandson’s shadow. I 
shall yet be jealous of him. And so it 
was come time that we speak of a cer- 
tain weighty matter. 

“ Eve,” said I, one day, “ I suppose 
that you will have him christened.” 
For whenever we say “ him ” we mean 
our son ; and no doubt I should have 
said baptized — I did not know about 
such things. 

And Eve was smiling. “Yes,” she 
answered, “ I should like it — and soon, 
Adam, if we may.” 

“ And what is his name to be ? ” I 
asked. “ For that is a trifle that must 
be settled first, I suppose.” 

“ I suppose it must,” she said. “ And 
I — what would you name him, 
Adam .? ” 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 251 
“ I had thought of giving him your 
father’s name,” I answered, “ but ” — 
And I stammered and hesitated and 
grew red. But come it must. “ That 
rich man. Eve ” — 

She laughed aloud, with joy, I 
thought ; and she seized me about the 
neck and kissed me. “ Oh,” she cried, 
“ I hoped you would. And I will 
write to him, for he must be god- 
father.” 

And so she did write to him, and 
he came — laden with peace-offerings. 
And as I met him at my gate he took 
my hand and gripped it. 

“ Adam,” he said — and this time, 
too, I doubted if he knew what he 
called me — but I did not care. 
“ Adam, it was good of you to think 
of me — it was kind.” His voice was 
not steady; but Eve was close behind 


252 THE CLAMMER 

me, and he must say his greetings to 
her. So I did not find out whether 
my voice was any steadier than his. 

He spread his gifts before my son ; 
and it befell that my son passed them 
all by, with no more than a grunt of 
approval, until he came to the silver 
cup. It was huge, more like a tank- 
ard than a cup, and Eve and I had 
laughed at it as a gift for a baby — 
but let it pass — at least it had no 
sharp corners. And when my son, in 
his inspection, had come to that cup, 
he gave a crow of delight and grasped 
it by the two handles, one on either 
side, and lifted it. I had not thought 
it possible, for it was heavy ; but he 
had his heart set upon it, and he did it 
— and I was proud and let my pride 
show. And he managed to get the 
cup well nigh over his face, and then 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 253 
he roared into it ; and the cup roared 
back at him again. He was astonished 
— he slipped the cup aside to see how 
we took it — then, seeing us laughing, 
he laughed, too, and roared again. 
Now he lies and plays by the hour 
with that cup, roaring into it, and 
making all manner of queer noises, 
and listens to it. And that Rich man 
sits beside him, and they play to- 
gether. 

Eve had the christening — or bap- 
tizing — in our little country church. 
I had left the whole to her, to manage 
as she saw fit ; and when, in the church, 
I looked about, and saw those that she 
had bid to the feast, I was somewhat 
surprised — until I remembered. There 
were Old Goodwin and that Rich man, 
of course, and my friends ; but there, 
too, were Judson and Burdon and my 


254 the CLAMMER 

other neighbors. And there was Mrs. 
Goodwin, looking — but I did not 
look at her, after the first, so I know 
not how she looked. And when it was 
all done, I lingered, for a reason of my 
own, and walked with Judson, and 
Burdon walked with us. An old man 
walks but slowly. So it came to pass 
that we were the last. And, having 
entered my own house, I found Eve 
and Old Goodwin and that other Rich 
man sitting in a half circle; and, at 
the centre of that circle, with my son 
in her arms, sat Mrs. Goodwin. 

I walked up to her quickly. “ Mrs. 
Goodwin,” I said, “ I rejoice that you 
are here, — at last.” 

So speaking, I held out my hand. 
And she took it, and would have spoken, 
too, but she could not. She hid her 
face on the shoulder of him that was 


OLD GOODWIN’S WIFE 255 
but just baptized; and he, thinking, 
no doubt, that he had had enough of 
water for one day, set up a wail. And 
I turned me about and went forth and 
left them. 


I 


a! 










